


Amethyst Harry Potter/Reader

by MadnessIsScience



Series: Amethyst - Harry Potter/Reader [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Adventure, Book One, Emotional, F/M, Harry Potter/Reader - Freeform, Mystery, Reader Incert, Romance, The Philosophers Stone, fight, harry potter x reader, reader - Freeform, ron x hermione, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 76,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadnessIsScience/pseuds/MadnessIsScience
Summary: AMETHYSTHarry Potter X ReaderBook One - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's StoneIn which the reader, Y/N Evangeline Amethyst, the last remaining descendant of the pure-blood Amethyst family line, meets the Boy Who Lived.This book will revolve around the growing friendship between you and the Golden Trio, as I feel quite uncomfortable declaring any kind of relationship otherwise between two children of so young. Their romantic relationship will blossom further later in the series, most likely the third book rather than first. I still suggest reading the first and second though for lore purposes and character and relationship progression.Enjoy <3Odette Elodie
Relationships: Harry Potter/Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter/Reader, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Amethyst - Harry Potter/Reader [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913794
Comments: 62
Kudos: 88
Collections: Harry Potter





	1. ~Prologue~

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! Please feel free to leave comments and constructive criticisms as I enjoy knowing what I can do to further my writing. Thank you, and enjoy!

Y/N Evangeline Amethyst of eleven-years-old lives almost entirely alone with the exception of Misses, her pretty little, long-haired, white, multi-chromatic-eyed cat, and Thestral, her late-mother's black, great horned owl, of which she named herself.

She lives in the Amethyst family home within the pretty, green, countryside of England. The house is a homey, three bedroom, sandstone cottage sitting on an acre of land. It's been her home since she was born, the place her mother raised her, and the place Mrs. Evens, the lovely, elderly witch from next door, would often babysit when her mother had things to tend to.

"Hello, Thestral," the young girl with pretty, H/C hair and brilliant, lavender eyes smiles to the familiar bird perched on the kitchen's window ledge. "What have you brought for me?"

It isn't often that Thestral, or Thes, as he's sometimes called, has any need to deliver letters to her, but today being her eleventh birthday suggests that Mrs. Evens, or Connie as she prefers, has probably sent him over with a birthday card before she's to come over later today for dinner as she always does.

Y/N is just finishing up making herself a cheese sandwich when she notices him and the pretty-looking letter in his beak.

She leans forward and takes the envelope from him, and then gives his feathers under his chin a nice scratch before she moves to the bench, collects her plate, the returns to her spot in the library with both items to find Misses curled up by the fire and her chair looking ever-welcoming, the book she'd been reading beforehand adorning the small table to the chairs left.

"Hello, Misses. I didn't hear you come in," She smiles to the pretty animal.

Misses lifts her head before standing and moving into a stretch, and once done, moves towards the young girl for a pat.

The envelope is a little different to those that Connie will usually send over if she hasn't the time to stop by, so Y/N wonders if maybe its one from Connie's daughter, Mabel.

Mable is a lovely woman of around forty years now. She's a deaf woman with a daughter of her own. The Amethyst girl hasn't met Mabel's daughter, though she's heard many things about her through letters from Mabel, and during the times where, through sign, they'd speak when she'd be able to visit.

This letter, turns out, is from neither Connie nor Mabel.

_Miss. Y/F/I (First name initial). E. Amethyst_

She's never received a letter with her full name scrawled across the front so nicely before. The ink is a brilliant green, which just so happens to be her favourite colour, and the lettering is cursive and beautiful. After her name comes her address, and on the back, once she's turned it over, she finds a wax seal that's quite familiar.

This is her Hogwarts letter!

She quickly tears the letter open once the realisation of the situation dawns on her, an excited smile plastered across her lips, and a slight shake in her hands. She's always been excited about entering Hogwarts for the first time and experiencing all the same things and places as Amelia, her mother had. She forgot all about it though after her mother's passing, understandably, and hasn't given it any thought again before right now.

She's going to Hogwarts. Y/N Evangeline Amethyst is going to Hogwarts!

 _Dear Miss. Amethyst_ , the letter reads.

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall._

"Misses!" she cries to her cat, startling the poor thing a little. "I'm going! I'm actually going! I can't believe this! I need to send Thestral to Connie right away! She'll be so pleased!"

Y/N rockets from her place by the fire and tears a few pieces of parchment from a drawer before collecting her mother's favourite quill, now hers, and a small pot of, ironically enough, green ink similar to the one her letter was scrawled in, which happens to also be her favourite ink.

She's quick to explain what's happened to Connie, and even quicker to scribble out a quick letter of affirmation for Hogwarts. She slips one into Thes' beak and he takes the other by claw, leaving the young girl in a state of shock and happiness as she watches him leave for her neighbour's house just a little down the way.

She rushes then to her room to organise a trunk of belongings to take along with her, including but not limited to: her favourite pair of pyjamas, the one's Mabel sent her for her tenth birthday, her mother's old quill and her ink pot, a couple changes of spare clothes for more casual wear, some items of warmer wear for the coming colder months, a large wad of parchment, even though she's sure there will be some there for writing letters home to Connie, and, of course, at least twenty different books of all different sorts.

Young Miss Amethyst has always loved books, and takes great pride in being able to walk through a store with Connie and comment on the ones she's already read, even at such a young age. Her favourite, though, once again much the same as her mother, is her book on mythical creatures, a book she received from her mother when she was no older than five. It was that year they got Thestral and Y/N was allowed to name him.

Today's date is July 25, her birthday, and so after meeting with Connie for their usual meal, and speaking about Hogwarts and the elder's days within the school, and then, of course, opening her present from said woman, which was a new scarf of deep crimson inlayed with golden thread, seeing as Connie's absolutely certain Y/N will be chosen for Gryffindor, she lays half-asleep in bed thinking about how she'll spend the remaining month and a bit before Connie promised she'll take young Y/N to Diagon Alley for her equipment.

She rolls to her side and looks upon the framed photo of her and her mother in the snow during their last Christmas together and smiles sadly.

"You wait, mum. I'm going to be the best witch Hogwarts has ever seen... I'll make you proud, and... wherever dad is, I'll make him wish he'd never left us..."


	2. ~1 - People My Age~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N Sets off from King's Cross Station to board the Hogwarts Express, where she's to meet a few new, friendly faces.

“You will be careful, won’t you, love? And you’ll write as often as you can too keep an old lady updated?”

“Of course I will, Connie. When things happen, I promise you’ll be the first to know!”

Mrs. Connie Evens watches down to me with a loving smile and twinkling, ageing, soft-blue eyes. I love this lady like family, as she’s practically been apart of it since before I can remember, the elderly witch living no more than five moments down the road from my mother’s, and now my home.

She’s stood no more than an inch or two taller than myself, and beside her stands her dog, Edgar, of who she insisted come along to wish me well on my journey to a new place. In front of me sits my cart full of things I’ve brought along with me including my trunk, Thestral, sitting happily within his cage, another carrier holding Misses, and a box or two holding all of my new necessities for the school year, and, of course, a selection of new books I found that I’ve never read before.

“And remember that this year I’ll be in France for Christmas to see Mabel and Markus, as well as little Martha, okay? It’s the first year I’ll be able to visit them as a family, you see, and I’m sorry I can’t bring you along with me, dear, it’s just…”

“It’s okay, Connie. I understand! You need to see your family, and they come first, I understand. I’ll be okay!” I smile warmly clutching my wand within my woolly jumper’s pocket. “I’ll send Thes to find you. I’ll send a letter for Christmas, too. It’ll be like I’m actually there.”

“You’re such a lovely little girl, Y/N Amethyst. Your mother would be so proud of you, you know that, right?”

I nod in appreciation and picture my mother seeing my acceptance letter once again as I’ve been doing for a while now, my smile content and yet longing. Connie must notice as she drags me into a warm hug.

“You’ll be fine, love. She loves you so much, as do I, and everything will be okay… You remember what we talked about?”

“To feel pain is to understand we had someone great enough to make goodbye so hard. And that the hurt wont leave, but I’ll one day find comfort rather than sorrow within her memory,” I recite for the umpteenth time this last few months.

“You’re going to do incredible things, Y/N. I just know it.”

“Goodbye, Gran Evans,” I smile and hug her close.

“Goodbye, little love,” she returns before we both part ways and I’m moving through the pillar into platform 9¾.

The transition from the station into 9¾ is an easy one, and actually, one I’ve made before. My mother had taken me through when I was younger one day whilst we were waiting on some family friends at London’s King’s Cross Station. I’d begged her to let me try running through the wall. I however, wasn’t paying attention to which pillar I was supposed to be aiming for, and ran head-first into the brick wall between platforms nine and eight. I have a small scar just above my eyebrow to prove.

Today’s transition is much easier than that I’d tried those few years ago though, and I enter onto the magical platform finally leaving the muggle world behind for a little while.

I do like muggles, and have never had anything against them, nor will I ever, but there’s something about a world without magic that I can’t seem to be able to enjoy. That’s why mum would take me into one of the largest libraries in London when we we’re out and about on the streets so I might be able to take a break from the boredom of a magic-less world and fall into the hidden shelf towards the libraries back, which if you haven’t gathered, also doubles as a magic-users doorway to London’s Library for Magical Folk, the biggest witches and wizards library in England, apart from, of course, the one that resides within Hogwarts itself. I’ll most definitely be checking it out when I’m given the chance.

The hustle and bustle on the platform today, unlike the first time I visited, is much more lively and compact. There are families or many all stood around and rushing about to get their goodbyes and things in order in time for the Hogwarts Express to leave the station in around twenty minutes at eleven o’clock.

The engine itself is what really captures my attention though. The old steam engine painted deep-onyx, rich-crimson, and detailed in gold. At the trains face, there’s a label reading ‘ _Hogwarts Express_ ’ with the number _5972_ painted just under it in snow-white contrasting magnificently with the dark base-paint. There are many coaches and carriages stemming from the engines front, but my favourite part is the large, dark chimney stack bellowing bright steam from its top. I read a lot about trains within one of my books back at home, and another telling about this train itself.

It takes no longer than ten minutes to locate the man who’s to stow our possessions onto the train. I handed over my cart giving him my name and such before heading onto the train itself, my breath catching as the feeling of finally being on my way settles within my bones.

“I can’t believe I’m actually here,” I smile to myself as I make my way through the compartments looking for one with some spare room. Eventually, I come across a carriage without a cluster of students within it and heave a happy sigh before pushing Misses’ carrier in before myself, the man loading the engine insisted that I could bring only one onto the train along side me and so seeing as Misses is an anxious traveler, I opted to have Thestral stowed away with the many other cages as he’s most likely to appreciate being around those of his own kind. Misses is a people cat.

I sit down and stare out at the platform through the pretty window. Cats of many different colours are strutting here and there, as well as owls, rats, and I think I even saw a boy handling a toad earlier. I take Misses from the carrier and shove it up onto the racks above, the small cat, who’s always been quite small, curls up appreciatively in my lap. She’s never liked carriers, after all.

I take note of how the platform seems to be quite a bit more empty now. It’s no doubt due to the fact that we’re about to leave. I’m thankful no one has come into the compartment with me, as I’m not sure how Misses might react. She’s a very good judge of character, and if someone with ill intent were to come in, she’d be a hissing mess for sure. I, as well, haven’t much experience around people my age, and so being without the forced pleasantries that’d no doubt turn awkward due to my less-than-favourable communicating-with-other’s skills is definitely a plus.

Just as I’m thinking this, though, the door suddenly slides open to reveal a boy of around my height clutching a cage housing a pretty, white owl. He’s not tanned, but not pale either, he has a deep, almost chocolate-like shade of brunette hair, and his eyes are a pretty shade of green that are sat behind a slightly-broken pair of glasses.

“Hello,” he says coyly, "do you mind if I sit?”

I look down to Misses who’s simply looking him over. She doesn’t seem to be in any sort of distress and so I shake my head and gesture to the seat across from me.

“Hello, I don’t mind. I noticed the train was quite full even when I got on. I’m Y/N, Y/N Amethyst. It’s a pleasure meeting you!” I smile kindly.

“I’m Harry Potter. It’s nice to meet you as well!” he smiles shyly.

“Oh! Harry! It’s a delight to meet you! I hope you found your way around well! I wasn’t aware I’d be meeting you so soon.”

“Oh, you’ve heard about me too, then?”

“Only a little. I’m afraid I knew more about your parents than yourself,” I smile gently.

“You knew my parents?”

“Uh, no, not personally. My mother did, though. They used to be friends. She said they went to Hogwarts together, her, your mother and father… I know it’s been a long, long while now, and you are more than likely sick of hearing it, but I’m very sorry for your loss, Harry.”

“Oh, wow! I’ve never met someone who knew my parents before, apart from my family, of course. And thank you…”

I smile happily towards the boy before the train starts to pull away from the station. I look out the window again to see many family members waving goodbye to their children and vise versa. I smile at the happiness radiating from the platform and then look back to the door when it’s suddenly opened again. Standing in the entrance is a young, red-headed boy, most likely the same age as Harry and I. He points to the seat beside me and looks between us both.

“Anyone sitting there? Everywhere else is full.”

“Feel free,” I smile in response, and Harry nods as well.

The boy sits down, but not before glancing a few times to Harry and then watching out the window as if he hadn’t been looking. I notice as he’s turned that he has a little dirt on his nose. As not to embarrass him, I don’t mention it and instead decide to introduce myself, but before I can, the compartment opens again.

“Hey, Ron.”

Standing in the door this time are two boys whom look to be twins, and most likely the boy named Ron’s siblings, given the similarities.

“Listen, we’re going down the middle of the train – Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there,”

Ron simply mumbles a ‘right’ in response.

“Harry,” says the other twin, “did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley, and our little brother Ron. Blimey, George, get a load of her eyes!”

“You’ve gotta be an Amethyst, right?” the other boy, George, says after the first, Fred, has called me to attention.

I nod in greeting and smile to both of the boys. In return I receive a pair of happy, boyish grins before they announce their departure and close the door again.

“So you’re really him, then? Harry Potter?” Ron questions Harry once the room has fallen quiet.

Both boys continue to speak between themselves, but I, instead, take out a book on Merpeople. I brought this book in Diagon Alley with Connie today after reading about the lake on campus acting as home to such beings. I’m rather excited to see them, actually.

At around half-passed twelve I’m roused from my book by the sound of loud clattering in the isle outside our compartment. I stand and slide the door open to find a lovely-looking lady steering a trolley through the cars. She smiles and peers at me and the boys behind me before speaking, offering us something to eat.

I smile and ask her if I can have a chocolate frog, to which she obliges, and I pay for the treat. I turn to find a forlorn looking Ron Weasley staring down at his sandwich held in his hands. I’m shocked when Harry suddenly jumps up and announces how much he’d like. It’s a few moments later when both he and Ron are carrying armloads of sugary sweets and savoury delights into the car and onto the spare seat.

Both the boys are delighted to be indulging in the lollies and snacks, and I can’t help but giggle at the way Ron is stuffing his cheeks. I shake my head and open my frog, collect the card and stow it away, it being Artemesia Lufkin, and then I pop the chocolate into my mouth and savour it happily.

“Who’d you get, Y/N?” Harry asks once he’s finished looking over his own card, his being Professor Albus Dumbledore.

“Artemesia Lufkin,” I smile. “I’ve got her already, but it’s nice to have spares for those that don’t. Here, would you like it? You can start a collection as well!”

“I’m Ron, by the way,” Ron says from beside me. “I was going to say something before, but when I remembered, you’d already started reading!”

“I’m Y/N Amethyst. It’s a pleasure meeting you, Ron Weasley!”

“How’d you know my last name?”

“Fred and George said it when they came in to tell you about Lee’s pet tarantula earlier. Don’t worry, I’m no stalker. Nothing you need to worry about,” I laugh as his cheeks flush slightly as if he’d been caught with his hands in the cookie jar before dinner.

Harry graciously accept the card I have spare as he looks over her face.

“Who is she? Do you know anything about her?”

“Mm,” I reply. “She was either a pure-blood or a half-blood, I can’t remember off the top of my head. She went to Hogwarts, was sorted into Hufflepuff. She was the first female Minister of Magic in either… 1798 or 1799!”

“Wow, that’s cool. How’d you know that?” Ron asks with another mouth-full of chocolate.

“Books,” I respond simply. “I enjoy reading.”

Both boys nod, but Ron looks like he’s thinking up an argument against liking to read, though he’s cut short on time as another boy enters the compartment. We’re getting plenty of visitors this trip it seems. This boy looks a little tearful, as if he’s missing something.

“Excuse me,” he begins. “Have you seen a toad? I’ve lost mine.”

“I’m sorry, I haven’t,” I reply with a kind smile, both of the other boys shaking their heads no as well. “But I hope you find him.”

“Thanks… Well, if you see him…” he replies quietly before leaving again.

I turn back to my book, drowning out the boy’s chatter as I read more and more about Merpeople and what they’re like. That is, until there’s another person walking through the door. It doesn’t seem to end. I can’t complain, I suppose, at least Misses hasn’t had a problem with anyone yet.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” she states matter-o-factually. I smile and shake my head no.

The girl, as well as Ron and Harry, stands at around my height suggesting that she, too, is another first-year. She’s stood in her robes, has pretty eyes, and long, bushy hair that falls in dishevelled curls around her ears and past her shoulders.

“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it then.”

I furrow my brow before looking to Ron. He’s holding out his pet rat, Scabbers, and his wand as if he’s ready to cast a spell of sorts. I mark my page and turn my attention to him as the new girl sits down to watch.

“I’d like to see, too, if you don’t mind,” I smile as I watch intently.

“Alright then…” he replies cautiously before beginning to recite his charm.

“ _Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,  
Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!_”

Despite the spell, Scabbers remains his same shade of grey, causing a frown to follow Ron’s features.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell? If so, it isn’t a very good one,” The bushy-haired girl goes on to say. I feel as though she’s coming off either a little bossy, or stuck-up, but I’ve no right to make assumptions as I don’t know her at all. “I’ve only tried a few spells, but the ones I have worked for me. I was surprised when I got my letter, you know? No one else in my family are magic. I was pleased to be chosen for Hogwarts, or course, it’s the best magic school there is! I’ve already learnt all our course books off by heart!

“I’m Hermione Granger, by the way. You are?”

I lean forward and shake her hand with a smile and show her my book.

“I’m Y/N Amethyst! I’ve read all the books as well. Do you have a favourite? Mine was probably transfiguration. I’m very intrigued by it all!”

She seems to perk up at the knowledge that another is as passionate about learning as herself and instantly begins reciting her favourites as well before Ron and Harry have a chance to introduce themselves to the energetic girl.

“Right now I’m quite taken by charms. I hope to learn a good few more this year. I find them quite beautiful, don’t you think?” she smiles happily. I nod and grin.

“I know a little something if you’d like to see. It’s something my mother taught me when I was younger. A beautiful spell, really,” I suggest watching as all three of them perk up.

“Oh, I’d love that!” she smiles with a friendly glint.

I suppose maybe my initial thoughts on her were wrong. Perhaps to find the true her, I just needed to have her in a conversation about something she’s passionate about. Lucky for me, our passions seem to share common words.

I take my wand from my pocket where it’s been sat, careful not to disturb Misses, and hold it before me. I use my wrist to turn the wands tip in a figure-eight fashion whilst chanting the incantation.

“ _Nebulus Minusculus.”_

Hermione and Harry both gape at the miniature galaxy floating before them in mid air, the tiny little stars and planets that make up our Milky-Way spinning softly and glowing gently. As long as I twirl my wand, the projection will remain, and with my movements does it move.

“That’s a wonderful spell! I’ll have to try it some time!” Hermione exclaims happily.

“I’d be happy to teach you,” I reply happily.

“So who’re you two then?” she finally turns her attention away from me and back to the two boys.

“I’m Ron Weasley,” Ron Mutters.

“Harry Potter,” the last follows up.

“Are you really?” Hermione gasps. “Well I know all about you, of course! I read about you, you're in _Magical Modern History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts,_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._ ”

“Am I really?” Harry gapes as if this is the first he’s hearing about all this, and perhaps it is. I don’t know what happened to him after Lilly and James’ passing, mum never told me, which I’m grateful for in a way, because I can’t imagine how he must feel having so many people know more about his life than even he himself knows.

“Goodness, didn’t you know? I’d have found out everything if it were me,” Hermione breathes in a sort of far-away daze.

“Maybe he had no way of finding out? I mean, it all could have been kept from him,” I suggest before looking to the boy in question. “Sorry, Harry. I don’t mean to speak like you aren’t here.”

“That’s alright,” he smiles.

“Anyway, do any of you know which house you’ll be in? I’m really hoping I’m chosen for Gryffindor. Professor Dumbledore was in it himself, you know? Though, I suppose Ravenclaw would be nice as well… Actually, I should get going, I’ll need to keep looking for Neville’s toad.

“You three should change, I expect we’ll be arriving soon.”

With that, the girl leaves the room with a small flourish and then suddenly reappears, looking to Harry.

“I almost forgot, here,” She begins before removing her wand from her robes and pointing it towards Harry’s face. “ _Oculus Reparo.”_ I watch the small slip of tape holding Harry’s glasses together zip itself from the frame and disappear into thin air. I smile in amazement. “Oh, and Ron, you have dirt on your nose, right there.” With all of that, she’s gone again.

The remainder of the trip is filled with speaking back and forth with both Harry and Ron after we’ve changed into our Hogwarts robes, the three of us talking about all sorts of things such as spells, and even our pets, Scabbers, Misses, and Harry’s owl who I find to be named Hedwig.

Before long, I feel the train coming to a stop and smile out the window as I notice the sign stating that we’ve arrived at Hogsmeade Station.

It’s time for me to finally enter Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on the story so far would be appreciated. Of course, there isn't much different from the original books themselves, but I'd love to know what you think of Y/N Evangeline Amethyst.
> 
> <3


	3. ~2 - Dinner for 250?~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and your new friends enter the castle and finally attend your Sorting Ceremony. Which house will you be in? What a stupid question, right? Of course you already know!

The boats aren’t at all as rickety as I first imagined as I step into one to find it much more stable than they look. The small row boats of deep-oak each house three to four children each, and as well, seem to row themselves across the dark waters of Hogwarts' Black Lake. Each of the boats holds a small, glowing-gold lantern, each reflecting off of the water causing the surface to look almost like the stars.

I’m sat in a boat with Hermione and two other first-year girls, all four of us staring around us in wonderment as we travel like feathers atop the breeze over the deep and dark, mysterious waters, which, I’ve read, is home to a type of Scottish Merpeople, a colony of Selkies. The same one’s I read about on the trip over.

“It’s absolutely beautiful!” Hermione exclaims from my side. I nod in like-mindedness, my thoughts appearing the same. “I’ve read about the Black Lake, you know? All sorts of creatures live in it!”

“I was reading about the Selkies on the train!” I exclaim as I turn to face her fully. “I’ve read about them in Muggle myths as well. According to them, they live within the waters as seals, but shed their skin to come on land among the humans. I suppose they aren’t too far off.”

Hermione smiles and nods enthusiastically.

The boats meander across the lake until we finally come to a wall of hanging ivy, the long tendrils acting as a curtain, hiding away the large cave entrance beneath the castle and leading off into a dark and mysterious tunnel. Finally, after a little while longer, the boats all come to rest under the castle’s mountain within a sort of underground harbour.

I’m the second to leave the boat after a girl who’s name she said is Martha, or maybe Millicent. Either way, I’m second to leave the boat, lending a hand to Hermione as she stumbles slightly trying to step out. She smiles in thanks and I simply nod in reciprocation before hearing the large man, a man Harry called Hagrid, calling out about a toad.

We all clamber up a flight of stone steps after finally reaching the dewy grass looming beneath the castle, and finally head towards the large, oak doors, stepping into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The castle is grand, and absolutely beautiful. My eyes light up upon seeing it even through the night’s darkness. There are hundreds of windows with golden-glow-glass almost emitting the sudden and overwhelming feeling of warmth and home. I haven’t felt this way in a long while now, not since seeing my mother finally return home once upon a time after a rather lengthy trip to St Mungo’s.

A lovely-looking, silver-haired witch, standing tall in emerald-green robes and a pointed witches hat greets us at the door, her smile welcoming as her eyes scan the cluster of children standing before her. She has a lovely, warm aura about her, as one might find in a grandmother, or maybe an older aunt.

“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” says Hagrid from the front of us.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here,” she replies kindly.

She opens the oak doors wide and leads us into the huge entryway, torches of flame and iron lining the walls, as well as stacks upon stacks of candles, white wax mounding below them and down the walls themselves, dripping, though not untidily, down the stone. My favourite part, apart from the candles, will have to be the incredibly-high ceiling, one of which, you can barely make out from so far below it.

We follow her through the castle, Hermione and I walking side-by-side, until we finally reach a point where Professor McGonagall stops and turns to address us, the bickering, muttering, and clustering voices of many others from seemingly the room next to us, muffled slightly by the walls. This must be the Great Hall. I read a little about this as well.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” the emerald Professor finally speaks. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” she begins to finish. “Please wait quietly.”

“Oh how exciting! I surely hope I’ll be picked for Gryffindor!” Hermione whispers loudly to me from my side. I nod.

“I do as well. Connie, an elderly friend of mine, gave me her old Hogwarts Gryffindor scarf as a token of luck. I must remember to owl her when I’m able.”

“I also can’t wait for our first classes. Oh, how exciting it all is! I wonder what spells we’ll be learning this year, and what one’s I'll already have heard of! Oh, I do hope they teach us some hard charms!”

Suddenly, the corridor is filled with shrill screams causing both Hermione and I to jump a foot in the air before quickly turning to find what’s caused the shouts. There are a large group of ghosts filling through the walls and into the Great Hall! I gasp upon gazing through their translucent forms, Hermione clutching my arm to my right. They seem to be talking about something, though I can’t completely hear what.

One of them suddenly turns to us as if their just noticing our presence. “New students! About to be sorted, I suppose?” There are a few scattered nods in response. “Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know.”

“Move along now!” McGonagall’s, now familiar, voice rings over the ghost's words. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start. Now form a line, and follow me.”

She leads us from the corridor into the Great Hall, an enormous room pilled high with older students of second-year and up to seventh, as well as the school’s professors, and, of course, the ghosts scattered about. There are five long, oak dining tables lined with empty dishes and goblets. One table for each house, and of course, the teachers. Candles levitate through the air, bobbing gently and burning brightly, an amazing mix with that of the bewitched ceiling, the Hall’s ceiling masquerading as the brilliant-night sky.

Before Hermione and I walks Harry and Ron, the two gazing up at the roof in wonderment before Hermione breaks them from their gaze.

“It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_.”

All of our attentions are suddenly drawn from the ceiling and Hermione’s information to find Professor McGonagall placing a four-legged, wooden stool in front of us, and then on top, she places down A frayed and patched, old hat. The Sorting Hat. It has a face of sorts, and just as I’m able to make out which part is its mouth, it begins to sing.

“ _Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,_

_But don’t judge on what you see,_

_I’ll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

“ _You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

“ _There’s nothing hidden in your head_

_The sorting Hat can’t see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

“ _You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave of heart,_

_Their daring, nerve and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindor apart,_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil,_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you’ve a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind,_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You’ll make our real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use many means_

_To achieve their ends._

“ _So put me on! Don’t be afraid!_

_And don’t get in a flap!_

_You’re in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I’m a Thinking Cap!”_

The entire Hall bursts into applause and whistles, as well as a few loud shouts of glee from the maroon and gold table, the voices belonging to the pair of Weasley twins we met earlier on the train before departure. I smile at their enthusiasm before they all fall silent again.

Professor McGonagall steps forward with a pretty, parchment scroll, no doubt with our names on.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she commands before reading off the first name. "Abbot, Hannah!”

A blonde, pig-tailed girl stumbles forward and puts on the hat before sitting down. There’s a short-moment’s pause before the hat shouts aloud to us all, but mostly Hannah, “Hufflepuff!”

The Hufflepuff table, the long table to the right holding the children adorned in yellow and black, cheer loudly as Hannah smiles widely and makes her way over to sit on the empty bench closest to the rest of her new house.

“Amethyst, Y/N!” McGonagall shouts next.

There are a couple hushed whispers, which I’m not upset about, as I know my last name is known. My family, after all, is supposed to have all died out. I smile before grinning to Hermione, Ron, and Harry, and then move forward to be sorted as well.

“Ah, an Amethyst!” the hat exclaims once I’m seated. “It’s been a long while since I sorted one of you! Now, lets think. You’re smart, with a drive to learn… Ravenclaw would do you good. But, you’re also loyal, a trait of most Amethysts, and so Hufflepuff would be a good choice also!”

I look anxiously from house table to house table, the yellow one, and the blue, and think about how my life would be if I was sorted into either. Of course, both would be marvelous choices, but I know where I want to be. Exactly where my mother was.

“Hmm, but there’s a cunning drive in you, as well, a trait of Slytherin, though also bravery, so much bravery, again, a seemingly common train among the Amethyst family. A deep-routed bravery and drive to help those you’re loyal to, as well as the smarts and cunning to help navigate…

“Gryffindor!” it finally shouts, and I thank it within my head before happily stumbling from the stool and moving to the maroon-gold table, the students lining it clapping and cheering as the Hufflepuffs did for Hannah, and I sit and wait for the rest to be sorted.

Many names follow my own, such as Susan Bones, who is sorted into Hufflepuff, and Terry Boot who becomes a quick Ravenclaw. Mandy Brocklehurts becomes another Ravenclaw, and then Lavender Brown is the second to join me in Gryffindor. The girl from my boat, Millicent Bulstrode, is the first sorted into Slytherin. Justin Finch-Fletchly sorts into Hufflepuff, and then Hermione’s name is called.

I watch in anticipation as she ascends to the stool quickly and sits down nervously, before jamming the hat on her head in anticipation. Her gaze catches my own, and I throw her a supportive smile, which she anxiously returns.

“Gryffindor!” the hat announces, and I beam happily. I’ll have a friend with me after all!

Hermione rushes to our table and slides in front of me, and I smile widely as she does, her cheeks flushed with happiness, as if she’s just concurred a dragon.

Many more names pass until another I recognise is sorted with us. Neville Longbottom, the boy with the toad from the train. The poor boy ran off towards us with the hat still on his head though, causing him to flush with embarrassment once he realises.

A snooty looking boy with platinum-blond hair, a pale, round face, and his nose in the air is called soon after. A boy called Draco Malfoy, and to my surprise, I’ve heard of him before. The name Malfoy, anyway. I remember my mother mentioning bad things about his family. I decide right here and now that avoiding the boy will be within my best interest.

Unsurprisingly, before the hat even really touches him, it’s shouting out ‘Slytherin!’ and I roll my eyes as he swaggers off to the table on the far end.

More names pass, surnames such as Moon, Nott, Parkinson, and a pair of twin girls called Parvati and Padma Patil, then Perks, Sally-Anne, and then Harry Potter.

Both Hermione and I pay closer attention to Harry’s sorting than the rest, as do the rest of the Hall, student’s younger and older, teachers, and ghosts alike. Murmurs and harsh whispers simmering from person to person, the name ‘Potter’ slipping from more than one tongue as he sits himself down and McGonagall places the Sorting hat on his head.

The hat is practically silent as it murmurs away to itself and Harry, until it’s voice is suddenly ringing out loud for us to hear.

“Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that – no? Well, if you’re sure – better be, Gryffindor!”

“Ha!” one of the twins exclaims. “We got Potter and the Amethyst!”

There’s an eruption of cheers from the Gryffindor table bigger than any before as Harry makes his way over and sits a couple seats down, the others beside Hermione and I now filled with other new Gryffindors, and following closely behind him is the quickly-sorted Ronald Weasley, who sits beside him.

“Well done, Ron, excellent,” exclaims another red-head, a pompous boy whom seems to be another of Ron’s brothers.

Blaise Zabini is the last name sorted, the boy being pushed into Slytherin, before McGonagall is rolling the scroll back up and taking the Sorting Hat away.

“Well done, you two! I’m glad we can all be in the same house!” I call to Ron and Harry, the two looking over to me and smiling in appreciation before I turn my attention back to Hermione, the girl discussing how she wishes there wasn’t a limit on underage magic, and how begin allowed to use magic at home would have allowed her to learn much more than she already has. I smile and add in my agreements.

“It’s just a good thing you can learn a fair bit from books, I suppose,” I comment. “Or we’d have come here knowing nothing! I’m most glad now, more than ever, than my mum would take me to the library in London most weekends!”

She nods this time before Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Head Master, rises to his feet to welcome everyone for their first time here, or to coming back after their breaks.

“Welcome!” he exclaims loudly, “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

“Thank you!”

Everyone claps and cheers as he sits back down, and I hear Harry comment on whether or not the Head Master is mad.

“Mad?” Ron’s other, not-a-twin brother says airily. “He’s a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?”

The tables are now pilled with food, and I take the opportunity to fill my plate. I didn’t eat this morning as I was too nervous, and apart from the Chocolate Frog on the train, I haven’t eaten a thing since dinner with Connie last night. I take a fresh bread roll, fill it with shredded, roast chicken, and then slather it in gravy, and then I take a few carrots, and some delicious-looking peas.

I turn to see Harry chatting with the Gryffindor House ghost, and smile and gesture for Hermione to look as well. She, too, smiles and pays attention to the conversation between the group.

“I don’t need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don’t think I’ve introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy – Propington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”

“I know who you are!” Ron suddenly pipes. “My brothers told me about you – you’re Nearly Headless Nick!”

“I would _prefer_ you call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy,” he began to correct before another first-year sorted to Gryffindor pipes next.

“ _Nearly_ headless? How can you be _nearly_ headless?”

“Like _this_ ,” he says sounding rather irritated.

Sir Nicholas takes a fist-full of hair in hand before teetering his head to the side, his neck tearing in half and bleeding nowhere, a few started gasps leaving the first-years, including myself, before he slaps it back together again. I suppose near-decapitation is how Sir Nick died.

“So, new Gryffindors! I hope you’re going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindor has never gone so long without winning. Slytherin have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron’s becoming almost unbearable – he’s Slytherin’s ghost.”

A fair few of us look over towards the Slytherin table to catch a look at the Bloody Baron. The ghost has a blank stare upon his gaunt face, with blank, staring eyes to match, along with a bunch of silvery blood adorning his figure.

“How’d he get covered in blood?” asks Seamus Finnigan, the boy who interrupted Sir Nicholas, with sandy-blond hair.

“I’ve never asked,” Says Nicholas.

The feast proceeds as I swap between talking with Hermione, and occasionally Neville, and listening to Harry, Ron, and a few other boys talk together, and eventually, after everyone's had their fill, the dinner piles are swept away to be replaced by materialising deserts. I take a slice of caramel-fudge cake, topped with a dollop of whipped cream. The other’s begin talking about their families now, and I listen intently as I eat the sweet treat.

“I’m half-and-half,” says Seamus. “Me dad’s a muggle. Mam didn’t tell him she was a witch ‘til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock to him.”

“What about you, Neville?” Ron questions the quiet boy.

“Well, my gran brought me up and she’s a witch, but the family thought I was all Muggle for ages. My great-uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me – he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned – but nothing happened until I was eight. Great-uncle Algie came around for tea and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my great-auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced… all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased. Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here – They thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great-uncle Algie was so pleased he brought me my toad.”

I hear Hermione talking to Ron’s brother, who I now know as Percy, and turn to catch the rest of their chat.

“I _do_ hope they start straight away, there’s so much to learn, I’m particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it’s supposed to be very difficult,” Hermione converses.

“You’ll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing,” Percy replies.

Their conversation is cut off when Percy suddenly notices Harry in a little distress. “What is it?” he asks.

“N-nothing,” comes Harry’s reply. “Who’s that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?”

“Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he’s looking so nervous, that’s Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn’t want to – everyone knows he’s after Quirrell’s job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape.”

I turn back to Hermione now, thinking on her talk on transfiguration a little before.

“I once accidentally turned one of mum’s find china plates into a bean. I was only little, around four or five, and I’d gotten a hold of her wand. I’d read a spell in one of the books in the Library the week before and thought I’d give it a shot,” I laughed. “She was livid!”

“You managed to perform something like that? With someone else’s wand? How’d you manage?”

“Well, most of the witches in my family are relatively the same. Usually, we’re all connected to the same magical currents or something, so I was able to use her wand, and my grandmothers at one stage, but that’s a different story. It isn’t hard to do, in my family, but having our own wands produced stronger magic, you see.”

Hermione nods and we discuss some more before the deserts are also swished away and we’re called to attention by Dumbledore as he gets to his feet once again.

“Ahem – just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

“First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” I catch his eyes flashing towards the Weasley Twins.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

I hear Harry laugh before he’s muttering to Percy on the subject. “He’s not serious?”

“Must be,” he replies looking to Dumbledore. “It’s odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we’re not allowed to go somewhere – the forest’s full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us Prefects, at least.”

“And now,” Dumbledore continues. “Before we go to bed, let’s sing the school song!”

Dumbledore waves his wand producing a golden-silk-like ribbon that floats above the tables and morphed itself into words.

“Everyone pick their favourite tune, and off we go!”

“ _Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they’re bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we’ve forgot,_

_Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot.”_

It’s a few moments after everyone has finished that we’re asked to follow our house Prefect, ours being Percy, out of the Great Hall, through numerous other halls, corridors, passages, and stair cases. Past moving paintings, banners, candles, torches, and more doors than I can count, running into a poltergeist they call Peeves, to whom Percy quickly warns us about avoiding, and up yet more flights of stairs, until we finally stop before a large, painted portrait of a bigger-figured woman in a pink, silk dress.

“Password?” she asks.

“ _Caput Draconis_ ,” Percy replies clearly.

The portrait then swings forward and reveals a doorway, this doorway leading into the Gryffindor common room..

The room is cosy, warm, and lit dimly, yet beautifully, with candles and the crackling fire within the fireplace, of which is surrounded by comfortable looking chairs, couches, and other places to sit and relax. I think I’ll enjoy reading out here.

Percy directs us girls towards the girls dormitories and the boys through to another. At the top of the twirling, stone, spiral stairs are our beds. In this room, there are four, four-poster beds with brilliant, deep-crimson-velvety curtains and matching sheets. Sitting at the foot of each bed is a chest for our belongings.

I pick the bed farthest to the left by the wall and in front of one of the windows. I take Thestral and Misses within their carriers, place Thes’ cage by my bed, and release Misses from hers, her cries of appreciation melting my heart as she sinks happily against my chosen bed. I take a few moments to change into my pyjamas, and then I’m lying on my bed and looking to the other’s I share my room with.

I’m delighted to see Hermione move into the room after myself, and upon making eye contact, she busts out a huge smile and takes the bed to my left, the second in the row. Next to follow is Parvati Patil, and finally, Lavender Brown. I smile warmly to each in greeting before we’re all dressed and ready to sleep, anticipating our classes in the coming morn.


	4. ~3 - Snape is NOT Nice~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N and Hermione meet Harry and Ron in the Great Hall before attending their first Potions class with Professor Snape and they Slytherin first-years. It doesn't go well...

It’s been a few days since arriving at Hogwarts by now. Hermione woke me earlier than the rest this morning, suggesting we get ready early so we can get to know one another some more, as well as write her letter to her parents, and finish up on some early-morning study. I agreed, and so now here we are, talking about our interests. I also brought down my copy of Newt Scamander’s: _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ to keep myself occupies as I slowly eat my jam toast.

“What are you reading, Y/N?” Hermione asks from across the table, a quill in hand and a sealed envelope beside her half-emptied plate.

“It’s a book on all sorts of magical creatures, by a man called Newt. I’m currently reading up on his discovery of where to best find Murtlaps. They’re sea creatures, you see. Apparently they’re found in the seas of Britain.”

“I haven’t read that one…” she replies sheepishly. “I wonder if they have a copy here in the library?”

“You can borrow mine if you’d like. I’m almost done. This publication is quite new. Connie got it for my eleventh birthday. She picked it up on one of her trips to America, this year. I don’t mind lending it to you,” I suggest.

“You wouldn’t? That’d be wonderful! Well, what’s you’re favourite chapter so far?”

“I’d have to say his chapter on Occamy. They’re a serpentine creature native to the far east and India. They’re like a snake with wings, and they’re beautiful, here,” I smile as I flip to the previously-read chapter and show her a detailed depiction of the beast.

“Amazing,” Hermione smiles in response.

“So, Hermione, what’s home life like? I can imagine living with Muggles must be quite different to what I’m used to,” I ask happily.

“Of course. I didn’t even know I was a witch until I received my letter, after all, but after seeing all of this, and reading all I have, I can’t imagine going back to the way we were, you know? Just the things I know now, the spells, the potions I’ve studied, I can’t believe I once barely considered them existing.

“It’s all rather different, I’d guess, though I haven’t been within a house of magic users, so I couldn’t really tell you what’s different at all. I’d have to try living with a magic family for a little while to understand it even myself.”

I nod before taking another bite.

“Our first lesson is Potions with Severus Snape, right? Are you excited for that? I am. I like Potions, as the exact science of the entire thing, measurements and such, methods and memorised magic's. It’s all so spectacular!”

“I’m looking forward to it, too, though not as much as Charms and Transfiguration, as I think I’ve said before,” she says with a chuckle.

“Maybe once or twice,” I reply with a laugh.

“So, what do you think of this year’s classes? Are you liking them?”

I look to the piece of parchment I’ve been using as a bookmark and glance over the classes, their times, and respectful professors.

Each Wednesday, at midnight, we have Astronomy, where we have to make our way up to the Astronomy Tower to find Professor Sinistra, a tall, dark-skinned, lovely witch, and study the night sky as well as learn the names of different planets, constellations, and other Astronomical bits and pieces.

Three times a week we’ll go to the greenhouses behind the castle to meet Professor Sprout, a shorter, plumper witch, with frazzled, boxy, silver hair, and a rounded face, for Herbology, and learn about all things plant related that can be useful within a wizards or witches arsenal.

Some days we’ll take our History of Magic class with Professor Binns, who’s a ghost, turns out, who died in his classroom after falling asleep in front of the fire. I respect his lessons, and find the history of magic somewhat dull, but essential. What makes the class almost unbearable though, is the way he drones on and on monotonously, making most of us want to pull out our hair and fly out the window.

These are some of the more somber classes. I’ve taken more of a liking to the following.

We take Charms class with Professor Flitwick, a very short, very passionate wizard whom I’ve heard is marvelous in duels, and is even better with charms. Both Hermione and I enjoyed completing the homework given in his class the most, as we enjoy the art in itself, as well as his way of teaching it.

Our Transfiguration classes are held by Professor McGonagall, the emerald-green, tall witch who greeted us by the doors on our first night in the castle. Her classes are magnificent as well, and she was overjoyed when both Hermione and I were able to properly transform our match sticks into needles our first try.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, or, as most of the students refer to it, DADA, is held by the turban-clad, Professor Quirrell, where he’ll run through different forms of Dark magic and the proper repulsion and protection techniques for many different harmful and even illegal spells, curses, and jinxes alike.

Our final class is Potions, held by the ever-moody Professor Snape. Though the class is to be worrisome with such a negative presence ever-looming over our shoulders, I'm sure we'll manage to avoid exploding any cauldrons, melting any tables, and setting anything on fire.

“I’m loving it!” I exclaim. “Though I wish we had someone a little more cheerful to teach Potions. I don’t know how much longer I can stand Snape glaring at us all, especially seeing as we’ve got it with the Slytherins.”

“I agree. We’ve got a double lesson with him and them first up, actually. Did you do the reading last night?”

“I did it while we were in the Common Room with Lavender and Parvati last night. I can’t say I found their conversation particularly interesting… Who on earth, apart from those two of course, can talk about the same bloody television show for so long? I was about ready to tear my ears off,” I complain.

“At least as a result we got the reading done, so that’s all that matters. But I agree again. I couldn’t bare listening for too much longer. And what did Lavender say when we asked her and Parvati about what they’ve read?”

“I read the subtitles on the movies my mum and I watch at home,” I smile and laugh as Hermione shakes her head in bewilderment.

“How can someone not enjoy reading? I just can’t imagine!”

I laugh along with Hermione before I notice there are many more people within the Great hall than before, and that the mail's here, the latter or observations coming to light after hearing the squawks and flapping of many sets of feathery wings.

I look across from Hermione and myself to see Ron and Harry a few spots down. I tap Hermione’s arm and gesture for her to follow me, and so she does, the two of us moving our things next to the boys.

“When did you two get in here?” Ron asks as he notices us finally. “Thought you were still in bed!”

“We’ve been down here finishing up the studying, you know? For our classes? I suppose you two didn’t do the reading for our double lesson with Snape like we did, did you?” Hermione asks.

“There was reading?” Ron replies.

I smile and wave at Harry when he faces me, and he waves in return.

“Good morning, boys. You’re late down,” I comment.

“Got lost on the way here… again,” Ron whines.

“Don’t worry,” I try to encourage when suddenly Thestral perches himself on my head and drops a letter onto the table before me I pick it up and examine it, to find the handwriting to be Connie’s. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

I tear the envelope open and take the parchment from inside, reading over her words carefully.

_Dear L_ _ittle Love_ _,_

_How are you, dear? I’m so proud that you made it into Gryffindor! Although I knew you would. I was a Gryffindor, after all, as was your mother! She’ll be so proud of you, dearie, don’t you forget! Anyway, I hope classes are treating you well, and that you’ve been applying yourself accordingly! Say hello to your new friend Hermione for me! I’m so glad you’ve made such a lovely-sounding friend so fast!_

_Good luck and much love,_

_Gran Evans ~ Mrs. Connie Evans_

I smile at the letter and look to Hermione, the girl peering longingly down into her book, obviously revising for our coming classes once again.

“Hermione, I told my friend Connie that I’d met you in my last letter, and she says 'hi'. Just thought you’d like to know,” I smile as her eyes find mine.

She smiles back appreciatively.

“Are you writing her back now?”

“Mhmm,” I hum as I arrange my parchments, ribbon spool, green ink, and mother’s quill.

“Tell her I said hello back, won’t you!”

“Of course!” I smile brightly.

_Dear Gran Evans,_

_Thank you so much! I am happy to hear that you are as excited as I am, and I appreciate your words about mum. I’m as sure as you that she’d be just as proud, if not prouder than you say._

_Classes have been wonderful, and I’ve been working my hardest! Alongside Hermione, of course. She says hi back, by the way!_

_I’ve made quite a few nice friends in Gryffindor so far. Like Hermione, Ron, and Harry Potter! Did I mention last time that I met Harry on the train? Do you remember mum talking about Lilly and James Potter when I was younger?_

_Hope you are doing well._

_All my love and wishes,_

_Little Love ~ Miss Y/N Evangeline Amethyst._

“What have we got today?” I hear Harry ask Ron as he pours some sugar on his porridge.

“Double Potions with the Slytherins,” Ron groans in return. “Snape’s head of Slytherin house. They say he always favours them – we’ll be able to see if it’s true.”

“Wish McGonagall favoured us,” Harry sighs.

“What do you mean? McGonagall’s lovely,” I add in her defense. 

“Sure, if you already know everything she’s teaching. You two are her favourites. Of course you’d think that!” Ron says in exasperation. I simply shake my head and roll up my letter, tying it neatly with my shimmery, green ribbon, and then hand it off to Thestral.

“To Connie please, Thes,” I scratch the birds tummy from where he’s stood on my head, and he coo’s happily before taking the letter in beak and flying back off out of the Great Hall once again.

“Come on, Y/N,” Hermione says suddenly as she snaps her book closed enthusiastically. “We’re going to be late if we hang around any longer.

I nod and pack up my things alongside her as she does the same, and then we both head out of the Great Hall and towards our Potions class in the Dungeons.

The Dungeons are dim, and slightly chilly. This part of the castle is under ground of course, and so there’s no sun to keep things warm and bright. That’s not to say the corridors and classes are dingy. They aren’t. In fact, the candles and torches lining the walls give the place a warm glow, if not the warm temperature.

Hermione and I take our seats side by side, just as we do in every class, and await the lessons start by reading. She takes out her Potions book, and I my _Fantastic Beasts_ book, and continue reading through the chapter on Murtlaps where I left off in the Great Hall.

After a few more minutes the rest of the class, first-years from both Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, both fill the rest of the previously empty tables, and finally, Professor Snape begins to take down the register making sure we’re all present for his class.

Professor Snape, just as a couple of the other teachers have done, pauses once he reaches Harry’s name.

“Ah, yes,” he says softly, though not kindly. “Harry Potter. Our new – _Celebrity_. One of two, anyhow,” he sneers as he glares from Harry and then to me.

What can Snape possibly have against me? I haven’t even attended one of his classes yet, nor have I spoken to him face to face. He merely knows my name! Just the implication that he dislikes me for no apparent reason has me frowning to the tall and shadow-shrouded man. I also hear Malfoy and his friends snickering nastily from their table within the room.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he begins to drawl slowly as if he’s all the time in the world. “As there is little wand waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the scenes… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper to death – if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

Silence follows his speech, and if Hermione or I had the needles we turned from matches and dropped one, you’d surely hear it rattle against the stone floor and echo through the room loudly.

“Well, he’s certainly lovely,” I mutter to Hermione quietly, to which earns a nod of understanding and a scowling side-eye from the professor himself.

“Potter!” says Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry turns to look at Ron questioningly, and Hermione’s hand shoots into the air.

“I don’t know,” the boy finally replies. Snape sneers.

“Tut, tut – fame clearly isn’t everything. Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Hermione’s hand remains present, but he continues to ignore her and the sounds of laughter coming from Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle’s table.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter? What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replies quietly. “I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her?”

“Sit down!” he suddenly shouts at Hermione before turning his angry, empty eyes on me. "What about you, eh, Amethyst? Our other little surprise-of-the-year, back from the dead and all, can you tell me these things? No! Fame is not everything, children-” he starts to inform as he addresses the rest of the class, Harry’s eyes catching mine, his sad and my own frustrated and slightly angry.

“Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is better known as the draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone found in the stomach of a goat and can save you from most poisons, and monkshood and wolfsbane are the same thing, a plant, that also goes by the name aconite.

“I’d appreciate it, Professor Snape, sir, if you wouldn’t bully students. I, as well as Harry, I’m sure, have come here to learn from you, not to be told we’re insufferable for not knowing our curriculum off by heart before it's even taught. Is it not your job to teach us?”

“Miss Amethyst,” Snape responds as his eyes turn hard, uncaring, and nasty. “I expect discipline from my students, not lip! You’ll be serving detention after class. You are not to question my teachings, nor speak without raising your hand! A point will also be taken from Gryffindor for that cheek, Amethyst. You, too, Potter.”

“To be fair, Professor, you did ask her a question,” Hermione backs me up timidly, and I send her a small smile as thanks.

“Would you like detention as well, miss Granger?”

“No, sir…”

“Regardless of Miss Amethyst’s lack of respect, she is correct, so have you copied that down?!”

There’s a sudden flurry of quills and scratching against parchment as everyone quickly reiterates what I’ve just informed into their own notes sheets, eyes glued to the tables, and fingers glued to quills.

The rest of the double Potions lesson I remain in my place, as I don’t want to anger the professor anymore, no matter how wrong I think his need to bully Harry is, and do my work alongside a hard-working Hermione. Together we practice the given instructions and written formulas for a potion set to cure boils, an easy start, but still an easy one to mess up.

Snape continues to praise his Slytherins – namely Draco Malfoy – and belittle us Gryffindors at every given opportunity. He went on about Draco’s perfect stewing of horned slugs, his cauldron hissing loudly and emitting green plumes of smoke from its edges.

Neville somehow managed to mess his potion up so terribly that he melted Seamus’ cauldron into a blob and caused their potion to seep through the desk and onto their shoes, melting them as well. Snape was most definitely not happy about that, although it did give him another exemplary moment for belittlement.

“Stupid boy!” he snarled whilst cleaning up the spilled potion. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire? Take him up to the hospital wing!” he then spat an Seamus once Neville’s nose started sprouting boils. He then quickly turned to reprimand Harry and Ron. “You – Potter – why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor.”

As much as I wanted to argue the point that Harry and Ron had nothing to do with Seamus and Neville’s table, I’ve learned my lesson for the day and instead turn to Hermione.

“Poor Neville… and Harry. How was he supposed to know? It isn’t his job to look after the others,” I complain quietly in a whisper.

“I know, but please, keep quiet. I don’t want you getting in any more trouble… Snape obviously doesn’t like any of us very much.”

I nod and let the lesson continue, and before long its over. Everyone begins packing their things away after cleaning their places, and they’re all leaving before Snape speaks again.

“Miss Amethyst! I hope you didn’t forget your detention?” he asks with a nasty snarl.

I sigh and turn to my three friends.

“I’ll see you guys after, okay? Hermione? Ron? Harry?”

Each of the three nod and wish me luck before I spend the next hour or so cleaning out old Cauldrons and scraping up old messes as instructed by the professor, and once again, before long I’ve finished my detention and am free to go.

At five to three I run into Harry and Ron as they’re seemingly leaving the castle.

“Hello, boys!” I call and smile. “Where are you off to?”

“We’re going to see Hagrid,” Harry answers. “Do you want to come along? I think you’ll like him!”

“Sure! I’m done now anyway, lets go!”

Hagrid lives in a small, wooden and stone hut on the outskirts if the Forbidden Forest. Sitting outside the front door, there’s a crossbow and a pair of galoshes. Harry is the one of us to knock, and his knocks are quickly followed up by a loud, thickly-accented, booming and yet jovial voice.

“ _Back_ , Fang – _back_!”

When Hagrid opens the door, I’m met with the same, tall and hairy man that sat with us on the boats when we first entered Hogwarts. I smile to the man as he looks between us all.

“Hang on,” he says again. “ _back_ , Fang!”

Hagrid lets the three of us in as he struggles to keep a hold on Fang’s collar.

Fang in an enormous, black boarhound, and I’m instantly drawn to him, as I am most creatures. Well, except for Ron’s rat Scabbers, who I find to be rather annoying. He brought him down to the Great Hall during dinner one night this week, and the little thing got himself in the gravy. Neville was certainly surprised when he’d ladled him out.

Hagrid’s hut is small, and is made up entirely of a single room, and yet, it feels very cosy. I especially like the way the fire heats the room just beautifully. There is the odd ham leg, and pheasant hanging from the ceiling, but the old, copper kettle boiling over the fire ready for pouring into mugs for tea makes up for that.

“Make yourselves as home,” says Hagrid as he lets go of Fang.

The large dog immediately runs over to me, and I don’t hesitate to throw my arms around his head and give him a big hug. I’ve always loved dogs after all, and if we’d never gotten Misses, I’d have surely gotten a puppy. Fang gives my cheek a big lick as he laps up the attention, and I giggle before scratching behind his ears.

Hagrid smiles to Fang and I, and then Harry introduces us.

“This is Ron, and that’s Y/N,” he says.

“Another Weasley, eh?” Hagrid says suspiciously as he looks Ron over. “I spent half me life chasin’ yer twin brothers away from the forest. And blimey, look at yer eyes! You mus’ be an Amethyst! Gotta be!”

“I’m Y/N Amethyst, yes. It’s a pleasure meeting you, Hagrid. Harry’s told me about you!” I greet. “And I love your dog. You said his name’s Fang? Beautiful boy, aren’t you, Fang,” I sing.

“Pleasure’s mine, Y/N,” he smiles with glee.

Hagrid offers the three of us tea and some home-cooked rock cakes. The tea is lovely, but the rock cakes are just that, and I can’t seem to manage taking a bite. Harry and Ron seem to be pretending they’re enjoying them though, and so I’ll do the same.

Fang’s head rests on my knees as I run my fingers along his snout, between his eyes, then behind his ears, before scratching his chin. Harry’s telling Hagrid all about out Potions lesson this morning with Snape.

“But he _really_ seems to hate me,” he sighs. “And Y/N,” he adds as an after thought.

“Rubbish,” Hagrid replies. “Why should he?” He seems almost sheepish of the subject and decides to change it, his attention and questions falling to Ron. “How’s yer brother Charlie? I liked him a lot – great with animals.”

As Hagrid and Ron chat idly about Charlie and his work with dragons in Romania, I let my attention fall to Harry and the snippet of the _Daily Prophet_ that he has in his hands. Being unable to ignore my intrigue, I lean over and read it over his shoulder while still petting Fang gently.

**GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST**

**Investigations continue into the break-in at  
** **Gringotts on 31July, widely believed to be the  
** **work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.  
** **Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing  
** **had been taken. The vault that was searched had  
in fact been emptied the same day.  
**‘ **But we’re not telling you what was in there, so  
** **keep your noses out if you know what’s good for  
** **you’, said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.**

After reading the snippet, I notice the look of realisation on Harry’s face. Does he know something about this?

“Hagrid?” he asks. “That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might’ve been happening while we were there!”

Hagrid most definitely avoids Harry’s eyes, and instead of acknowledging his comment, offers Harry, Ron, and myself more of the god-awful rock cakes.

The three of us leave Hagrid’s hut and make our way back towards the castle for dinner. Harry and Ron are chatting idly about their classes so far, and passing off more comments about Snape and his biased nature towards the Slytherins, as well as his attitude towards us Gryffindors, but I’m not paying too much attention. I’m still thinking about what Harry said.

He looked genuinely worried when confronting Hagrid about the break-in at Gringotts Bank, and I wonder if, given Hagrid’s reaction, that there’s a lot more than meets the eye to what those unknown witches and wizards were looking for in the searched vault, and if maybe Harry has something to do with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that you're enjoying things so far! Feel free to comment what you think, or what you think could be better!
> 
> Sinclair~


	5. ~4 - Butterflies for Flying~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N and the rest of the Gryffindor first-years are to have their first Flying lesson with Madam Hooch, and Harry earns himself title 'Seeker'.

“Did you see the notice board today, Y/N?” Hermione’s voice breaks me from the pages of _Arsenius Jigger’s: Magical Draughts and Potions_ , which I’m revising in hopes of keeping Professor Snape off of my back. There’s no saying he wont find something completely preposterous to reprimand me for though, but I suppose revising is always good regardless of ulterior motive. “We’ll be starting our Flying lessons on Thursday.”

“Seriously? That’s amazing! Have you ever given much thought to Quidditch, Hermione?” I reply after closing my book and looking across to her where she’s sat on the other arm chair opposite to me by the fire in our Common Room.

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy watching, but I’m not all that interested in playing myself. I’m guessing you’ve given it some thought though?”

“I’d love to play! It’s usually second or third-years that are picked during tryouts, but I don’t think there’s anything saying I can’t attend. Maybe I should?”

“If you want to, you should. After all, extracurricular activities are good for receiving house points!”

“That’s right! I’ll have to try out then, if I get around to it… Or maybe I’ll just wait until next year, but either way, I’m excited to be doing our flying lessons. What class are we paired with?”

Hermione looks away for a moment before looking back to meet my eye. That isn’t good.

“Slytherin,” she admits.

“Ugh! And just when I was getting excited about only having to deal with them for one of our classes…”

“Cheer up! It isn’t all bad! As long as you do your best, right? We can’t be losing house points because of a stupid rivalry between houses.”

“Try telling them that. I can’t even count the amount of times I’ve had Malfoy sneering at me with his little pack of snakes behind him.”

As the days and hours before our first flying class shrink to shorter and shorter, I notice Hermione becoming rather uneasy when the subject is brought up. I asked her if she was feeling okay, and she explained to me that regardless of what one might read in a book, you need to possess at least some natural talent to fly a broom, so no matter how much she has read on the subject, she’s still worried about making a fool of herself in front of Madam Hooch, our Flying professor.

During those same moments, as well, I couldn’t help but notice the way Draco Malfoy would boast on and on about how terrific he is at flying already, and how he’s so sure he’ll get picked for Slytherin’s Quidditch team. He isn’t the only one who’s sure of themselves on a broom, though, a few other students have been talking themselves up as well.

Right now I’m sitting in the Great Hall with Ron and Harry. Hermione isn’t with us as she’s gone to the library to do some reading for the subjects she’s excited about within the coming years. I think she wasn’t to be away from all the chatter about flying, though, and I can’t blame her for choosing to avoid the Hall. There really is a lot of talk about flying.

“So, Harry, Ron, have either of you flown a broom before?” I start up a conversation after our discussion about Malfoy and his boastfulness has died down. “I don’t think I’ve asked before.”

“I didn’t even know I was a wizard until Hagrid told me,” Harry answers.

“Look at this!” Hermione’s sudden appearance causes me to jump a little in my place, and both boys snicker as I scowl in embarrassment.

“Oh, shut up, you two! What’ve you found, Mione?”

Hermione and I had decided last night in the Common Room to come up with nick names for one another, and so I suggested ‘Mione’, of which she liked, and she decided upon ‘N/N’, which I was very pleased with as well.

“I’ve just found this in the library. _Quidditch Through the Ages._ I’m sure I’ll be able to find plenty of stuff that’ll help in here. Would you all like to hear some?”

Both Ron and Harry seem to share a look of worry which causes me to sigh but also chuckle, but Neville seems to be all for the idea. I suppose, with his clumsy record, he’s probably quite frightened of flying as well.

“I’ve got that one at home, actually. I’ve already read it. But it’s good! Explains all the rules and positions well!”

After Hermione nods and begins reciting pieces from the book, the post finally arrives. I smile as I watch Thestral swoop in before he lands on my head, as he usually does, and drops my letter to me. I give him a scratch before opening it up and reading it.

_Dear Little Love,_

_That’s marvelous! I’m so glad that you are doing so well in your classes! And I’m even more thrilled that you are making such fast friends! Perhaps one day we’ll have them round the house for some tea? I think that’d be a good thing to suggest for your Summer Break, don’tcha think?_

_I’ve sent an owl to Mabel and told her about you getting into Hogwarts, and she’s just as excited as I am! She says she’ll send you an owl, so expect her to send one soon._

_Can’t wait to have you back home, love. Be good!_

_All my love,_

_Gran Evans ~ Mrs. Connie Evans._

I smile and stars fabricating my reply before something catches my eye. It’s something that Neville has had delivered to him. A small package that he’s opened to reveal a glass ball of sorts.

“It’s a Rememberall,” I hear him explain as I reply to Connie. “Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there’s something you’ve forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh…”

I look up after signing my letter, rolling it, and tying it with sparkly, green ribbon. Neville’s Rememberall has turned a foggy shade of crimson-scarlet, and he looks as though he’s having trouble remembering exactly what it is he seems to have forgotten.

I scowl when Malfoy suddenly appears and snatches the Rememberall for himself with a pleased look about him. I stand and stare the Slytherin boy straight in the eye, but he doesn’t seem bothered. I’m just about to say something, as is Harry by the looks, when suddenly Professor McGonagall arrives to save the day.

“What’s going on?” she asks with a pointed look.

“Malfoy’s got my Rememberall, Professor,” Neville replies sheepishly, as he generally does around teachers, adults, women, and most other living things.

Malfoy’s quick to chuck it back to him with a roll of his eyes. “Just looking,” he sneers before he, Crabbe, and Goyle leave us all alone once again. McGonagall leaves right after them with a pleased smile on her thin lips.

“She’s the best,” I smile to the other three and Neville. “She knows that Malfoy’s a right Pratt.”

Both Ron and Harry start laughing and grinning, and even Hermione, who’s always trying to keep out of trouble with others, lets herself grin.

It’s three thirty now, of the same afternoon, and since this morning, Hermione has read at least half of the Quidditch book she found in the library, and, as well as finishing my Potions book again, I’ve been through an additional six chapters of _Spellman’s Syllabary_ which is actually a third-year textbook for their Ancient Runes class that I picked up from _Obscurus Books_ in Diagon Alley before attending. I’d seen it in the store’s back whilst browsing and decided that runes might be fun.

Now we’re all making our way down a hill and towards a nice area of neatly-kept lawn that’s located on the opposite side of the grounds as the Forbidden Forest. We’ve got our Flying lessons now, and since this morning, Hermione seems a little more at ease with it all seeing as she read up on _Tips for Keeping Your Broom Level_.

When we arrive on the field, the Slytherins are already present, as are twenty-or-so broomsticks lying in neat lines facing one another, ten on each side. Madame Hooch arrives shortly after us, and I’m immediately drawn to look at her eyes which look like those of a hawk.

“Well, what are you all waiting for?” she exclaims loudly once she’s reached us all. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

I stand in between Harry and Hermione, and Ron stands on Harry’s other side. I find that the four of us are generally never found too far from each other these past few days since our year’s beginning, but I’m not complaining, as I’m very much enjoying each of their presence.

“Stick your right hand over your broom, and say, ‘UP’!”

“Up!” everyone begins chanting trying to bring their brooms to hand.

Harry’s broom immediately shoots from the ground to meet his hand causing my eyes to widen in surprise. Hermione’s, however, has simply rolled over slightly. It takes me three attempts before my broom finally obeys and flies up to meet me. I smile and grin to Harry as he smiles back.

Madame Hooch then proceeds to show us how to properly mount the broom, which, of course, is the easiest part as there’s nothing more to do then step over the stick and grip it tightly, knees slightly bent. Harry laughs quietly, as do I, and I think Ron as well, when Madam Hooch tells Malfoy he’s been doing it wrong for years.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” she instructs us next. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –”

Before Hooch can even blow the whistle, Neville has suddenly pushed off of the ground too early and begins to rise.

“Come back, boy!” Madam Hooch ordered poor Neville, but it seems he’s lost control of his broom, because all he does is rise further into the air and drift off of the field.

His eyes, which can be seen from even here because of how wide they are, are terrified, and he obviously has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing. It seems the part about leaning forward to land has slipped his mind. His face is as white as a sheet by now, and he has to be at least thirty-feet off the ground.

Suddenly, his grip on the broom seems to falter, and instead of rising, he’s now plummeting towards the ground too fast for anyone to do much at all. The poor boy hits the ground with a sudden _WHAM_ , and the broom he’s fallen from floats far off and towards the Forbidden Forest before disappearing from sight.

Madam Hooch leans over Neville and inspects the damage.

“Broken wrist,” I hear her mutter before helping him stand to his feet. “Come on, boy – it’s all right, up you get."

Once they’re both back up, she turns to address the rest of us with her hand on Neville’s shoulder, the latter clutching his broken wrist to his chest and whimpering through the pain.

“None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch’. Come on, dear.”

Both Neville and Madam Hooch make their way away from the rest of us and eventually disappear into the castle, and no sooner than their out of sight does Malfoy think it’s the appropriate time to open his damned mouth.

“Did you see his face, the great lump?” he asks, causing most of the Slytherins to chuckle and mutter their answers nastily.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Parvati Patil snaps at him, causing a few nods of approval from our side, and a sneer from both Malfoy and another girl from the Slytherins.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” asks the girl, Pansy Parkinson, teasingly. “Never thought _you’d_ like fat little cry babies, Parvati.”

“You leave her alone, Parkinson!” I tell the obnoxiously-strange-looking girl off. “And leave him alone as well! They’ve done nothing to you!”

“Well, would you look at that!” Malfoy comments as Parkinson sneers. “The dead girl has cheek!”

“What does that even mean? Honestly, Malfoy!” Parvati responds in my defense.

“What, you don’t know? All of _her_ kind are supposed to be dead! Shame they missed one, eh, Amethyst?” Malfoy says nastily. I scoff and fold my arms across my chest before looking down. That was a low blow, but what else can I expect from a Malfoy?

Harry and Ron both look completely confused and angered at what Malfoy has just said, as well as Parvati, and Mione looks sad for me. I smile and shake my head at her telling her that I’m fine. I’ve had the discussion about my family line with her already, so she understands what he’s saying. The others, though, don’t, and so I’m sure I’ll be dodging questions later on.

“Look,” Malfoy’s voice sounds again before anyone can respond to his previous statement. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.” And he’s right. There on the grass lays Neville’s gift from this morning. It glitters in the sun as he holds it up.

“Give that here, Malfoy,” Harry demands quietly. The rest of the pupils on the field halt their conversations to pay closer attention. After all, it is _the_ Harry potter and Draco Malfoy arguing. Of course they’re interested to see how this goes.

Malfoy simply smiles nastily in return.

“I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect – how about – up a tree?”

“Give it _here_!” Harry yells more forcefully this time, shocking a few of us. He’s usually much more quiet and reserved than this.

Malfoy leaps onto his broom instead of complying though, and takes off, but not before turning and yelling for Harry to, “Come and get it, Potter!”

Harry grabs his broom, and I gasp when I realise what he’s thinking. He can’t! He’ll be expelled if he’s caught!

“No!” Hermione yells from my other side. “Madam Hooch told us not to move – you’ll get us all in trouble.”

Harry doesn’t listen to Hermione, though, and before we know it, he’s mounted his own broom and is racing quickly after Malfoy to retrieve Neville’s Rememberall.

“He's going to get us all in trouble!” Hermione gasps as we all watch the scene unfold before us. “Madam Hooch is going to see, and she’ll take points from the lot of us!”

“I think what he’s doing is rather brave,” I admit, both Ron and Hermione looking at me perplexed. “After all, he knows what might happen, and yet he’s still standing up for his house and friends. It takes a lot of bravery for that. No wonder he was chosen for Gryffindor.”

“I suppose…” Hermione mumbles. “But I’m still going to lecture him.”

“Catch it if you can, then!” I suddenly hear Malfoy shout before he’s pegged the glass object through the air. If I didn’t already hate him so much, I’d think it was a good throw.

We watch entranced as Harry zips into action and quickly chases after the object as it reaches its apex and begins its decent back towards the ground. Harry leans forward on his broom and darts towards it in a steep dive. I feel like I want to close my eyes as he approaches the ground so fast, but I keep them open. He flies faster and faster, his hand outstretched, and both he and the Rememberall are mere feet from the ground before he manages to catch it and pull up in time saving himself from hitting the ground hard enough to case some very serious damage.

Our entire class cheers for Harry, even the hesitant Hermione, when he’s managed to catch it and remain unharmed, and we continue to cheer and applaud until our joy is broken by a very strong set of words leaving the mouth of a very angry-looking Professor McGonagall.

“HARRY POTTER!” she screams across the field as she approaches us where we’ve crowded around him. “ _Never_ – in all my time at Hogwarts-” she continues completely enraged. “how _dare_ you – might have broken your neck-”

“It wasn’t his fault, Professor!” Parvati Patil defends him quickly.

“She’s right, professor, Malfoy was-”

“Be quiet, Miss Patil, Miss Amethyst.”

“But-” I try again, Ron as well.

“That’s _enough_ , Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now.”

Harry sighs and looks to his feet before nodding and following McGonagall obediently. I shake my head in unbelieving as I watch them leave, Hermione and Ron doing the same, as well as Parvati and a few others from our house.

“What do you think’ll happen to him?” Ron asks.

“He’ll probably be expelled!” Hermione answers angrily. “We were told we would be if we didn’t listen, and now look!”

“It wasn’t _his_ fault though, it was that stupid Malfoy boy!” I yell before turning with my two friends to see the snake and his band of followers laughing through the situation as if it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to them. I could just whack him with my broom!

“Don’t do anything, Y/N. You’ll only get in trouble as well,” Hermione warns as she watches my eyes.

“I swear I’ll only hit him with the broom once. It won’t even be that hard.”

“I’ll back you up,” Ron suggests. “I’ll say you didn’t do a thing. The other’s probably would too.”

“No!” Hermione cries.

“It’s fine, Mione… I won’t do it – this time.”

It’s dinner time by now, and Harry has just come back to tell us the news. According to him, Professor McGonagall took him to see a boy called Oliver Wood, who happens to be Gryffindor’s Quidditch team captain, and then they both went and made him our team’s Seeker!

“You’re _joking_ ,” Ron exclaims in shock. “ _Seeker_? But first years _never_ – you must be the youngest house player in about-”

“A century,” Harry smiles as he eats. “Wood told me. I start training next week.”

“This is great! Do you realise how much Malfoy is going to hate this? Oh I can’t wait to see the look on his grubby little face when-”

“Alright, Amethyst,” George Weasley says as he and his twin brother come up to us. “Don’t want you to cause any harm to him just yet – wait ‘till you’re on the team for that,” Fred finishes. I smile to the two.

I sat with them a couple days ago for lunch whilst Hermione was busy with teacher and the boys were nowhere to be seen. I told them about wanting to play, and spoke to them about some other stuff as well. The Weasley twins are very funny, and say they’re very partial to pulling pranks. Promised to take me along on one, one time. I said I’d do it if they promised not to tell Hermione.

“Well done,” George then says to Harry quietly. “Wood told us. We’re on the team too – beaters.”

“I tell you, we’re going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year," says Fred. “We haven’t won since Charlie left, but this year’s team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us.”

“Anyway, we’ve got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he’s found a new secret passageway out of the school,” adds George.

“Bet it’s that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you, Ron, Harry,” finishes Fred once again.

“See you, Y/N!” they both call jointly.

“Bye!” I wave back.

“Since when did you know my brothers?” Ron questions once they’ve left.

“Since you all ditched me at lunch on Tuesday,” I reply simply. “Well I have to got and find Mione. I’ll see you boys later. Bye!”

Both boys wave and wish me goodbye before I leave.


	6. ~5 - Filch and Three Heads~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has a hunch, and she's drug Y/N from her bed in hopes of stopping Ron and Harry from meeting Malfoy for a midnight Duel. That doesn't go as planned though, as always.

My favourite colour is Sacramento green. It’s always been that way. I’m not really sure when it was that the colour fully caught my attention, but once upon a time it did, and I haven’t been able to think differently since. Actually no, that's a lie. I know exactly why.

My mum’s favourite colour was Ash grey, though she told me that it wasn’t always. Once upon a time she loved light blue, but then she met someone who changed her mind completely. She told me that the minute she fell in love with dad was the moment she realised that Ash grey was much more her speed than blue after all. She said his eyes were Ash grey.

I don’t know much about my dad… Or, more, I don’t know anything about my dad. All I know is that his eyes were Ash grey, and he left us. Mum tried telling me he hadn’t a choice, but how could he not? We all have choices, and he made his. He chose to leave.

My dad had Ash grey eyes, he left us, and he once owned an old, green scarf. An old, Sacramento green scarf that my mother was buried with. She’d have wanted it that way, after all, as it was the only thing he’d left her of himself. Even though I can’t forgive his choices, she loved him dearly, even after he left, and so I gave it to her when I had one last chance to leave her something.

I like to tell myself that the colour of his scarf, the last piece of himself, and only piece of himself, I ever knew, has nothing to do with my favourite colour. I try and tell myself that the colour reminds me of mum because she loved that piece of him, that last piece of him, and as seeing that piece made her happy, it made me happy too.

But, in the back of my mind, and hidden somewhere in my heart, I know that that’s not the whole truth at all. Sacramento green is my favourite colour because it’s the only piece of my dad I’ve ever know. I never saw the Ash of his eyes, after all.

It’s the middle of the night, far past our curfew, but here we are, Hermione Granger and I, sitting in the Common Room and waiting patiently on her hunch. She woke me earlier and told me she had a bad feeling that Ron and Harry were going to do something stupid. I haven’t known them very long, but I’ve known them long enough now to know that they are quite good at saying and doing stupid things, and so I followed her down here in my pyjamas to wait for them in the dark.

I’m broken from my tired thoughts by Hermione’s sudden voice.

“I can’t believe you’re going to do this, Harry.”

She’s quick to turn the lamp on nearest to her after she’s spoken, and when she does, the sudden light reveals the surprised duo of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, indeed, up to no good.

“ _You_ ,” Ron suddenly groans angrily. ‘Go back to bed!”

“I’m here as well – just thought you should know,” I speak gently from my place causing the two to jump again.

“Y/N? Not you too…”

“I almost told your brother!” Hermione snaps their attention back to her. “Percy – he’s a Prefect, he’d put a stop to this.”

I glance to Harry to find him looking mildly angry and somewhat frustrated with the situation. Suddenly he tugs on Ron’s arm and tells him to just leave. Both boys move through the portrait hole and away from Mione and I, leaving us stood there, me a little shocked at Harry’s actions. She’s quick to chase after them though, and so I follow her through too.

“Don’t you _care_ about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don’t want Slytherin to win House Cup and you’ll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells.”

I frown at her reasoning, as perhaps, it seems, her and I are here to stop them for different reasons.

“Go away,” they both grumble.

“I just don’t want you two to get in trouble. Who cares about the House Cup? Both of you could end up expelled for this,” I tell them gently. Ron looks as though he’s about to respond before Hermione is speaking up again.

“All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you’re on the train home tomorrow, you’re so…”

She cuts her own sentence off once she turns just to find the portrait, where the woman called the Fat lady usually sits, empty.

“Now what are we going to do?” she asks me in a flurry of frustration and panic.

“That’s your problem,” Ron answers her. “We’ve got to go, we’re going to be late.”

“Where _are_ you going?” I ask them as I quicken my pace to walk alongside them. “Hermione never told me. She just said you’d be getting into trouble.”

“We’re going to Duel Malfoy,” Ron smiles triumphantly, and my eyes jump wide with shock.

“Wait, seriously? Can I come too?”

“Y/N!” Mione shouts in disbelief. “You cannot be serious!”

“He deserves it, Mione. Remember what he said today? I’m rather excited to see him with some sense knocked into that big head of his.”

“That’s right!” Ron backs me up. “Plus he’s a git! You can come if you want, Y/N.”

I smile and nod in appreciation before quickening my pace with them, Hermione racing after us as quietly as she can.

“I’m coming with you,” she states once reaching us again, and I smile in appreciation to her.

“You are _not,”_ Ron exclaims back.

“D’you think I’m going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he find all four of us I’ll tell him the truth, that we tried to stop you and you can back me up.”

“You’ve got some nerve-” Ron starts loudly but is swiftly cut off by Harry.

“Shut up, both of you!” he demands sharply. “I heard something.”

I crane my neck to see past Harry and further into the darkened corridors. They’re scarier at night than in the evenings, as most of the lights have been extinguished, and shadows seem to loom more terrifically against the walls and floors, casting faux-professors where ever you turn. I swallow thickly after convincing myself that what I’m looking at is merely a shadow and _not_ Professor Snape, snooping around the corridors looking for Gryffindors to punish.

“What did you hear, Harry?” I whisper to the dark-haired boy gently as not to rouse the attention of whomever or whatever he’s heard.

“Mrs Norris?” Ron breathes, and I catch myself hoping it isn’t her, or Filch either.

I squint a little harder against the gloom and finally make out a shape laying against the floor, and to my utmost surprise, it’s Neville Longbottom, curled up and asleep on the corridor floor! He jerks suddenly, causing me to slightly do the same, and then he wakes up and stares at the four of us with wide eyes.

“Thank goodness you found me! I’ve been out here for hours. I couldn’t remember the new password to get in to bed,” he breathes out all at once, though a little loudly, a sentence filled with relief.

“Keep your voice down, Neville. The password’s ‘Pig snout’ but it won’t help you now, the Fat Lady’s gone off somewhere,” Hermione informs the boy.

“How’s your arm?” Asks Harry kindly.

Neville goes on to tell us that his arm’s fine, and that Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts resident medical witch, fixed it up very quickly. I tune them all out though, and instead let my mind wander to what might happen if we’re caught out of bed at this hour. Connie would be so disappointed in me for it, and I’m sure mum would be too… and then there’s the disappointment that my friends would feel for having to go back home so soon and not be allowed to ever return.

I watch the shadows keenly, making sure to mark their places as to remind myself that they _are_ shadows and not adults coming to tell us off. I jump when there’s a sudden hand on my shoulder.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” Harry asks as he removes his hand. I nod and clutch my hands to my chest.

“I just don’t want anyone to have to go home for this… I mean, is revenge on Draco Malfoy really worth all this?”

“Of course it is, Y/N! You know what he’s like. He picks on you as well,” Ron reasons, and I simply nod, completely unconvinced that this is worth disappointing so many people at all, as well as messing up our futures.

“Let’s get this over with then… I don’t want any of us getting expelled tonight. Hurry up,” I coax them along quicker, letting Ron and Harry take the lead after remembering that I don’t know where they’re supposed to be meeting up with Malfoy, and most probably his goons as well.

We clamber as silently as possible down many halls, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and I. Eventually, after a lot of walking and glances over our shoulders, we come close to the trophy room on the third floor.

There are many trophies inside of said room, and they’re very beautiful. They glitter and sparkle magnificently against the beams of moonlight filtering in through some of the high windows. There’s all sorts of things in here, from cups, to shields, and all sorts of other awards. Harry takes out his wand, but it seems we’re the only ones here.

“Is this where we’re meeting him?” I ask gently.

“He’s late,” Ron whispers his response. “Maybe he’s chickened out.”

“Are you positive he was going to show up at-” I begin to question before I hear a noise and cut myself off.

I look around frantically, but the other four seem to not have heard anything. A louder noise comes that causes all five of us to jump in place, and then we hear a voice.

“Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.”

It’s Filch and Mrs Norris. I don’t hesitate to clasp Hermione’s hand in my own and grip Neville’s sleeve before following closely behind a rushing Harry and closely following Ron. We rush through the trophy room to it’s other side in hopes of escaping our most likely expulsion, or at the very least, afternoon detention. Harry points us in another direction looking absolutely terrified, and we follow without question nor hesitance.

We’re silent, almost completely so, until something seems to cause Neville to trip, which pulls him from my grip, and he wraps his arms around Ron in hopes of staying upright, though that isn’t what happens, and instead of saving himself, he topples both himself _and_ Ron into a suit or armour with an almighty _CRASH_.

“Run!” Harry yells.

I tighten my grip on Mione and the both of us sprint after Harry, Ron and Neville close behind, none of us daring to glance back to make sure we aren’t being followed. We pelt through a couple corridors, behind a tapestry that turns out is hiding a secret passage way, and soon come out in another corridor close to Professor Flitwick’s Charms classroom. This room, though, is nowhere near where we’ve just come from the trophy room, and so we let ourselves slow down and relax slightly.

“I think we’ve lost him” Harry pants whilst leaning against a wall.

I nod to the boy and then let myself drop to the ground, Hermione soon following me, and we both breathe heavily as we take in what we’ve just done, and whom we’ve just avoided. Both Ron and Neville are both huffing and spluttering as well, through their lack of athleticism or fear I don’t quite know.

“I – _told_ – you,” Hermione gasps from my side. “I – told – you.”

“We’ve got to get back to Gryffindor Tower,” says Ron. “Quickly as possible.”

“Malfoy tricked you, Y/N was right. He wasn’t going to show up. You realise that, don’t you?” Mione tells Harry. “He was never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off.”

I nod and watch the look of realisation wash over Harry’s face before he speaks up again.

“Let’s go.”

My blood runs cold when I hear the rattling of a doorknob, and before I can even wonder which of our professors is sure to be behind it, Peeves the poltergeist has come towards us cackling madly. I can’t even make out the conversation the others are having with him before I hear him calling loudly to anyone who’ll listen.

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”

We duck underneath him and run for it, but after too little time, we’ve reached the end of the corridor and have run into a locked tight door.

“That’s it!” Ron cries. “We’re done for! This is the end!”

“Oh, move over,” Hermione demands before pushing him out of the way and drawing her wand from her light-pink dressing gown, tapped on the lock, and whispers a spell I can’t believe slipped my mind. “ _Alohomora!_ ”

The lock click open, and as soon as it does, all five of us pile into the room before slamming it shut again and pressing our ears to it, listening.

“Which way did they go, Peeves?” Filch asks the poltergeist. “Quick, tell me.”

“Say please.” I chuckle silently after hearing this. Hermione nudges me with her elbow and gives me a warning look.

“Don’t mess me about, Peeves, now _where did they go?_ ”

“Shan’t say nothing if you don’t say please.”

“All right – _please_.”

“NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn’t say nothing if you didn’t say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!”

The voices are quickly followed by the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch muttering curses to himself in a rage before he, too, limps away. I’m filled with relief with the sound of him leaving.

“He thinks this door is locked,” harry whispers. “I think we’ll be OK – get _off_ , Neville!”

Neville was indeed tugging furiously on both mine and Harry’s sleeves trying to get our attention, and for very good reason too, because when I turn to face what he’s facing, I come to see something I really wish I hadn’t – at least, not under these circumstances.

Standing before us and snarling angrily is a gigantic, three headed, dark coloured dog, with bared, drool-coated teeth, terrifying eyes, and terrible breath. I gasp, and that seems to collect the rest of my friends attention, because soon they’re gasping as well. Before I can even register what’s happening, I’m being pulled from the room with the others and the door’s being slammed shut again, and as soon as I’ve come back too, we’re running again. Zipping through the corridors, now more familiar than before, and pelting back towards Gryffindor Tower where, with some luck, the Fat Lady will be back in her portrait, and we’ll be allowed back in into our Common Room and dormitories. None of us stop running until we reach the aforementioned lady on the seventh floor.

“Where on earth have you all been?” she asks us in surprise when she notices our puffed out stances and wheezing breaths, our wide eyes and dressing gowns hanging off of us.

“Never mind that – pig snout, pig snout,” Harry pants, and without question, the portrait flips back open, and the five of us are scurrying back into our Common Room and collapsing on the armchairs and couches laid about. It’s a long while of silence before anyone decides to break it.

“What do they think they’re doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?” Ron finally speaks. “If any dog needs exercise, that one does.”

I chuckle and nod slightly.

“You don’t use your eyes, any of you, do you?” Hermione snaps. “Didn’t you see what it was standing on?”

“The floor?” Harry shrugs, and I, once again, break out into a quest laugh. “I wasn’t looking at it’s feet, I was too busy with it’s heads.”

“No, _not_ the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It’s obviously guarding something.” Hermione quickly stands after her exclamation and glares at the boys. “I hope you’re please with yourselves. We could all have been killed – or worse, expelled. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”

Ron stares after her with his mouth wide open.

“No, we don’t mind. You’d think we dragged her along, wouldn’t you? That girl needs to get her priorities straight! Killed – or worse, expelled – pfft.”

“To be fair,” I finally speak up myself, quietly, and a little sadly after hearing him, “to some of us, Ron, this is our home. Some of us don’t have much to return to if not here, so please understand that she want’s to be here with everything she has, and you shouldn't underestimate that of her. Goodnight.”

I stand and leave after Hermione. I move into our dorm and find her brooding on her bed with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

“I can’t believe those two!” she whisper-shouts. “Who’d be dumb enough to fall for something like that? Even if Malfoy _did_ show up – what’s the point? They’d have gotten in trouble.”

“I know,” I try to comfort her as I sit on my own bed, cross-legged, facing her. “But it’s okay, we didn’t get caught, Mione.”

“But we _could_ have, N/N… and then what?”

“Yes, we could have, but we weren’t, so lets just count it as a win instead of a loss, okay? I understand that your afraid of getting expelled – I am as well – but we weren’t caught, and so nothing of the sort will happen, okay? Come on, we should get some sleep. Since last night after Astronomy, this’ll be our second night up past midnight, and we need some rest.”

“I suppose you’re right, thank you…” she breathes before lying down and trying to fall asleep.

“You’re welcome. What are friends for?”

I try to sleep as well, though the thought of that dog on the third-floor has my mind plagued.

What is it guarding? Obviously there has to be something important hidden under that trapdoor, but what? Harry had said something about he and Hagrid having been at Gringotts when it was broken into. Said Hagrid collected something from one of the vaults under Hogwarts Business. Could that have something to do with it? Whatever was in that vault, is that what’s being hidden under there? Harry’s expression when Hermione mentioned something hidden would suggest something of the sort, I suppose.

With those thoughts in mind, I finally drift off to sleep. 


	7. ~6 - Helping The Weasley Twins~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N has just been pulled aside by Ron's brother's Fred and George, and they're looking to recruit her for a job. How fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is simply a filler, and that's why it's so much shorter than the rest. Enjoy anyway! I love Fred and George, so of course I'd add them in more heavily than others!

I can see the sheer surprise on Malfoy’s face when I enter the Great Hall the next morning with Ron and harry both, neither of them being tossed from the school, meaning that his little plan had failed, and he’s not looking pleased about it at all.

“It has to be what Hagrid collected when you were both at Gringotts right, Harry?” I ask him as we take our seats. “I was thinking about it all last night. It makes sense, doesn’t it? You and Hagrid were there and emptied something from the same vault that Dark witches or wizards broke into later that very same day. Hagrid said himself that he was collecting it on behalf of Dumbledore. And you remember what Percy said, right? Not even the Prefects know why the third floor corridor is out of bounds this year.”

“It does add up, doesn’t it?” he responds.

“It's all got to be connected some how. It’s just too much of a coincidence otherwise,” I say.

“It’s either really valuable, or really dangerous,” Ron adds.

“Or both,” says Harry.

I take a piece of toast and an apple from the table, munching on both before turning my attention to my Transfiguration book. Since last night, Hermione has been refusing to speak to the boys, and Neville hasn’t uttered a word about it. I reckon he thinks he might have dreamt it all up.

"Why aren’t you sitting with Hermione, Y/N?” Harry questions me eventually. “You're both usually sitting together for breakfast.”

“She’s mad at the both of you so she doesn’t want to speak with you, so I came here alone.”

“You aren’t angry with us too, then?” Ron asks.

“No, just a little let down you never told me about it before hand. I might have helped, you know? I wouldn’t have tattled or anything. Although, at the same time, maybe I wouldn't have gone… Expulsion is dangerous to play with. I don’t intend on ending my Hogwarts career so soon. But I could have given pointers at the very least if I couldn’t convince you two not to go.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles. “I guess we just thought since you hang around with Hermione so much, you wouldn’t have been interested. Might have been angry with us as well.”

“Hermione and I share a lot of similarities, but we aren’t the same person. You’d do well to remember that,” I sigh and finish off my apple.

It’s a week later when Harry receives a rather large package delivered by owl during breakfast. I’m surprised he received a package. As far as I’ve suspected, Harry never receives letters, unless they’re invitations to come ‘round for tea from Hagrid. Seeing his owl, whom I’ve learned is named Hedwig, and six large screech owls dropping him off such a big parcel is strange to say the least.

“What have you got there?” I ask him.

I’ve been spending a lot more time with the boys since our little adventure last week, though still not as much as I spend with Hermione. We’ve become closer during these past few days, and I’m enjoying having them as friends very much.

“I don’t know,” he answers whist tearing off the letter stuck to the front.

“Well go on then – open it!” Ron says.

“It’s a letter from Professor McGonagall,” he says after reading it. “She’s brought this for me…”

I take the letter, with his go ahead, and read over it, Ron reading it over my shoulder.

_DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE._

_It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don’t want everybody knowing you’ve got a broomstick or they’ll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch pitch at seven o’clock for your first training session._

_Prof. M. McGonagall_

“Oh my gosh!” I squeak enthusiastically once I’ve finished reading. “Harry, this is extraordinary!”

“A Nimbus Two Thousand,” Ron groans. “I’ve never even _touched_ one.”

“I wish I could go with you back to the Common Rooms to open it, but I promised Hermione I’d meet with her for some study in the library. So I hope you enjoy yourselves!” I smile to the two of them before taking my things and making my way out of the Great Hall.

I’m walking towards the library when suddenly I’m swept off of my feet by two different arms holding me up from under my own.

“Morning, Y/N,” says one of the familiar voices.

“Made you a promise, we did. Time to act on that,” says the other.

“Wait,” I exclaim, still being drug off and towards a completely different part of the castle. “You mean you’re going to let me join you today?”

Both of the twins smile and exchange a look before nodding happily and letting me back on my own feet. I smile brightly and bounce on the balls of my feet enthusiastically, excited to have been seemingly taken in as their _almost_ apprentice of sorts. Fred reaches forward and ruffles my hair, grinning boyishly, and George folds his arms, giving the same look.

“Well? What are we waiting for? Let’s do it! What do you boys have in mind?”

“That’s the spirit,” says George.

“You’ll love it,” says Fred.

“We’re going to slip some Sleeping Draught into Mrs Norris’ breakfast, then slip into Filch’s office and take back our brooms,” says George again.

“Took ‘em from us for flying ‘em in the halls.”

“Reckons we’ve seen the last of ‘em.”

“Well then,” I reply full of amusement and happiness that they thought to bring me along. “I’ve always had a way with potions. Let’s prove him wrong, shall we?”

Both of them beam again, and then we’re off to the Common Room, where, apparently, they’ve got some stuff they took from Snape’s supply pantry to cook us up a potion. We enter through the portrait hole and the boys drag me straight up to their dorm, which, I’m told, females are allowed to enter, but not vise versa.

“I have a class at ten, do you think this’ll take you long?” I ask them once I’m sat with them, before George is placing ingredients and utensils down before us all. “I mean, the potion will only take so long, it’s the rest I’m worried about.”

“We we’re going to make the potion ourselves, but did you say you we’re good at ‘em? Might be better if we leave that part to you, then,” Fred laughs.

“My mum used to let me tinker back home when I was younger. I’ve successfully brewed Sleeping draught on quite a few occasions. This’ll be a piece of cake if you want me to do it.”

“Perfect!” both boys say together, and I smile before getting to work.

I toss the Lavender and some mixed, dried, magical herbs into the mortar and blend it into a smooth, creamy paste, and then I toss the Flobberworm Mucus and such into the cauldron and begin to heat it. This should be left to heat for thirty second. After counting down the precise number of seconds in my head, I add the crushed mix from the mortar, and then cast some magic in with it.

“Okay, this’ll need seventy minutes to brew, so what until then?” I ask once I’ve set it aside to mature and properly infuse. I look to both boys to see them watching me with interest.

“You didn’t even use a recipe,” says George.

“Bloody brilliant for a first-year,” compliments Fred.

I blush and shake my head.

“Like I said, mum would let me play around in her potion studio when I was younger. Sleeping Draught was one I made quite often. I’ve memorised it by now,” I tell them, intentionally leaving out the part about me needing to brew it _for_ my mum when her nightmares would get out of hand.

“Brilliant,” they both say at once, and I smile again.

“Okay, so what’s next? Have you thought about how you’ll be able to slip the potion to Mrs Norris?”

“We have, actually,” says George.

“Going to get Winky to slip up a bottle of milk. Cat’s like milk, right?” says Fred.

“Indeed they do,” I smile happily. “Come on then. You two can handle that, I’m sure. For now, I promised Mione a study session in the library. I’ll meet you both back in the Common Room in exactly an hour, and then we’ll finish this up.”

Both nodded, and the three of us went on our way.

“Where were you after breakfast?” Hermione asks once I finally meet her in the library, my books held to my chest. “I saw the boys just before – you weren’t with them?”

“I was with Ron’s brothers, actually, they needed some help with a potion,” I smiled before setting my books down.

“Oh no – they haven’t, have they?”

“Haven’t what?”

“Roped you into one of their schemes.”

I laugh quietly and open my books, taking my quill, ink, and parchment from my rucksack as well. I smile before looking to the girl.

“Don’t worry, Mione. I’m being careful. Plus, I rather like their energy. Not a lot of people like them, you know? Remind me of a friend I used to see quite a bit. Used to love pranking people, he did.”

“What if you get caught? You’re as bad as Harry and Ron sometimes, N/N. Honestly.”

“I promise you that I wont, okay? It’s just some light-hearted mischief. We won’t be loosing any House Points. The boys are far to practiced to have us caught.”

Both Hermione and I begin our study session after she’s begrudgingly accepted that I’ll be careful. This morning, surprisingly enough, I’m studying Potions. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about a potion that could make one breathe underwater. I’d love to be able to swim within the Black Lake during the Summer time to maybe catch a glimpse of the Selkies, or maybe even the Giant Squid.

“Alright, I’m done with this essay Snape set… though I don’t understand why he’s set me an essay so early on…” I groan as I finally push my two scrolls worth of Potions Essay to the side. “I was only standing up for myself. Why’s he have to be so mean?”

“I suppose he doesn’t like it when people speak back, especially when they’re in the right to do so. Even though you were looking out for yourself though, I wouldn’t advise trying anything of the sort again any time soon.”

“Trust me. I wouldn’t even dream of it at this stage. Do you know how filthy the undersides of the potions rooms desks are?”

At exactly fifty-five minutes after leaving Gryffindor Tower, I wish Hermione a goodbye and promise to catch her up on what happens in our next class, which is Transfiguration with McGonagall, at ten, and then I pack my things and leave for the Common Rooms once again.

Upon walking through the portrait, I immediately see both Weasley twins sat and waiting, a paper bag held in George's hands.

“Hello, boys. You ready?”

“As ever,” they both reply in sync, and I laugh as I follow them back up to the dorms.

I take the pot of mixed magical herbs and sprinkle the appropriate amount into the cauldron once I’m sure the time is right, and then change the heat to high, which will need another minute before continuing. While waiting during that minute, I entertain myself with watching the boys try and throw jelly beans into each others mouths from different ends of the dorm. Once the minute’s up, I add in the Valerian Sprigs, stir it seven times counter-clockwise, and then finally finish it up with the final wave of my wand.

“There, all done!” I exclaim, pulling the boys attention from their little game of catch. “You’ve got the milk?”

George nods as both boys move forward, and then he hands me the paper bag. There’s a single bottle filled a quarter of the way up with milk hidden inside, and I laugh at the bunch of sweets wrappers littered within as well.

“Okay, here. I’ll just add the milk to the vial, and – done! One milk-infused, Sleeping Draught potion, ready to be used on annoying cats for the purpose of retrieving apprehended brooms!”

“Brilliant, you are!” bellows Fred.

“Should invite you along more often, we should,” exclaims George straight after, his brother nodding in approval.

“Well I’d love that, but not too often, I hope. I’ll end up giving Mione grey hairs,” I laugh. “Come on then! Can’t wait to see this! I added extra lavender, so it’s bound to work quick. Let’s go.”

George, Fred, and I all make our way to where his office is stationed here on the seventh floor, making sure to keep an eye out for him as we go.

“How are you so sure he won’t be _in_ his office?” I finally ask them.

“Convinced one of the second-years to tip him off about someone looking to sneak into the Forbidden Forest,” George answers, and as usual, is soon followed up by Fred.

“He won’t be back for ages yet. He’s probably still on his way down.”

“Still gotta hurry though.”

“If there’s one other person besides Georgie, Dumbledore, and I that knows their way through the secret tunnels in this place, it’s Filch for sure.”

I nod and we all close in on the closed door. A door where a certain Mrs Norris is stationed outside and looking eagerly for people to have Filch punish. Retched animal she is. Once we’ve just about reached her, Fred caps the potion and pours it on the floor, and without a second thought, the stupid cat makes it’s way over and laps it up quickly, before falling dizzy, and going to sleep a few seconds away from the potion-spill.

“ _Tregeo_ ,” I mutter with a quick wand swish causing the spill to clean itself and disappear. I then creep to the door, and upon finding it locked, whisper the next spell, fresh in my mind because of Hermione and our night with the Three-Headed Dog, tapping the lock with my wand, and opening it. “ _Alohomora_.”

“Bloody brilliant,” both twins unify again. I smile and shake my head.

“Get it done, boys. Quickly!” I push them along, and they do as asked, rushing in, and soon rushing back out again with both brooms and a small packet of something or other. “Got everything?”

“Sure do,” says George.

“Here you go,” says Fred, handing me the packet.

“What’s this?”

“A thank you for helping. Filch is always confiscating sweets from first-years. Keeps them hidden in the back-most drawer,” says George.

I smile at them both, we each give our thanks, and then we split up after locking the door again and leaving Mrs Norris and a less-conspicuous position by said door.

What fun.


	8. ~7 - Troll in the Dungeon~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N and Hermione find themselves in a terrible predicament, but Harry and Ron arrive just in time to save the day. This should be enough to get Hermione Granger to forgive them for what's been said and done.

Today is a pleasantly warm day in contrast to the rest over the past month of being here at Hogwarts, and due to this, Hermione and I are sat outside today and reading. The courtyards were quite full when we tried finding a place to sit earlier, and so we’re a little further away from the castle, just a little bit away from Hagrid’s hut, sitting beneath some trees and enjoying the lovely weather.

There are clouds gently covering the sky, but nothing that’s stopping the sun from warming us and the ground that’s becoming progressively more chilled due to the cooling temperatures of early September. There are sun speckles dancing through the leaves, that are beginning to brown, and casting themselves against Hermione and her book, where she’s sat just a few paces from me.

Today she’s studying Transfiguration. I’m guessing it’s due to all of the compliments she gets from Professor McGonagall during that class. She seems driven by positive reinforcement, where I’m more driven by people assuming I _can’t_ do something, rather than people acknowledging I _can_.

I’m not studying this afternoon, unlike Mione. Seeing as we’ve just come from our last class for a Friday, I’m opting to read one of the books I brought along with me. Today’s is a Muggle story called _The Secret Garden_. It’s absolutely brilliant so far, and I’m entranced by the entirety of it. It’s about an orphaned girl who discovers a hidden garden within her strict uncles estate. I’m about half way through, and I can’t seem to want to put it down.

My attention is pulled from the story when movement catches me from the corner of my eye. I’m quick to turn to see what’s moved, to find a small, wild, grey rabbit sniffing around near the trees close to the Forbidden Forest.

“Mione,” I nudge the girl with my foot. “Look over there.”

Hermione looks up from her studies to where I’m gesturing, and a smile finds her face when she spots it as well. I mark my book with my schedule, as I’m now accustomed, and place it down next to me. I then stand and slowly creep closer to the creature, watching the way it shifts from nibbling at the grass, to watching around itself cautiously.

Once I’m close enough that I might frighten it if I get any closer, I sit on the ground before it and watch it more closely.

I see rabbits quite often back home. They were my mums favourite animal, which means that whilst we often saw wild ones, we also had a tame on she raised from a baby that would hop around the yard, though never leave. His name is Wilfred, and he can still be found hopping around the yard from time to time, though since mum left, his presence is quite rare. When I do see him however, I’ll often throw him a carrot.

After a moment of munching on the grass, the rabbit sits up to take another look about, and when he does, he spies me sitting not too far away. At first he looks startled, but then after assessing me, he must decide I’m no treat, and goes on with his lunch.

I smile and shuffle a little closer to the creature before I hear a voice, and so does he, and he rushes off back into the forest.

“Oi, what are you doing over there, Y/N?” Ron’s voice breaks the nice silence.

I huff and turn to face the boy finding him to be stood with Harry, the both of them looking at me strangely.

“Well nothing now you’ve scared him off,” I reply curtly.

“Scared who off?”

“That rabbit of course, Ron. Have you no eyes?”

“Jeez… What’s got you in such a mood then?”

“I am _not_ in a mood!” I call before catching myself raising my voice and sighing. “Okay, so it _seems_ like I am, but I’m really not. Anyway,” I change the subject whilst standing and brushing myself off, “what are the two of you doing down here?”

“Hagrid’s asked us to come around,” Harry replies with a smile. “Would you like to come?”

“I would, but Mione and I are reading this afternoon. Did you see her by the trees?”

Both Ron and Harry look to where I’m gesturing, and once they see her, Ron scoffs before turning away.

“Careful with that one. Surprised you haven’t left her yet. She’s bonkers sometimes,” he mutters.

I look at him with a frown before shaking my head and walking away from the two of them. Hermione is my friend, and I won’t listen to someone talking about her that way, whether they’re my friends or not, I don’t want to listen to it.

“ _Not in a mood,_ ” I hear Ron repeat to Harry as I’m leaving. “What’s her problem?”

“I think you’ve upset her,” Harry replies, correctly might I add, before they’re both out of hearing range and I can’t listen to whatever Ron has to reply with.

I reach Mione and sit back in my place, smiling to her before taking my book back up and opening it to my page. I hate it when Ron talks about her like that, as if she’s no feelings and is nothing more than something to complain about. If he’d take the time to get to know her, I’m sure he’d find the side of her I’ve found to be extremely worthwhile.

I glance back to where the boys are, seeing them both get let in by Hagrid, before turning back once more, letting one of our last warm days lull me back into my reading state, and so I read.

There are clouds gently covering the sky, but nothing that’s stopping the sun from warming us and the ground that’s becoming progressively more chilled due to the cooling temperatures of early September. There are sun speckles dancing through the leaves, that are beginning to brown, and casting themselves against Hermione and her book, where she’s sat just a few paces from me.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

The next month seems to fly just as quickly as the first, and before anyone can even grasp it, it’s October, and the leaves have all-but-few steadily fallen from the trees, except for the evergreens, of course. It’s all been wonderful, though, between spending time with Hermione and then Ron and Harry, classes and such, as well as pretty much everything else, I can’t imagine going home… In fact, whether Connie will be right next door or not, this is my first time being away from that house since mum, and I can’t seem to _want_ to go back. After spending so much time away from that place with new people and within new environments, going back makes me almost… sad. I’ve been trying not to think about it, but ever now and again I won’t be able to help myself, and a pit of self-pity will form within my belly and I wont be able to _stop_ thinking about it.

Today is not a day to be sad though, as it’s Halloween morning, and this morning both Hermione and I have woken to the spell of baked pumpkin floating around the castle. It caused me to wake with a rumble in my stomach. I love pumpkin. Connie bakes it for us every Halloween. I’ll need to send her an owl today.

The most interesting thing to come of today so far though, is Professor Flitwick’s exclamation that’ll today in Charms, we’ll be learning to make things levitate! Ron is particularly happy about the news by the look in his eyes. He’s looking at the professor like he’d like to kiss his shoes. That mood all changes though when our professor declares that he and Hermione will be working together. As far as she’s told me, she hasn’t spoken to either of them since Harry received his broomstick just about two months ago.

“Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!” calls our Professor from his place at the front of the room, atop a very large book. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.”

I look to Neville, who I’m partnered with, and smile to him gently.

“You ready for this one, Neville? Would you like to review the words again?”

Neville smiles and nods his head. It’s nice seeing him happy rather than in a worry. I try my best to include him within class as much as I can, which can’t be said for a lot of our other class mates sadly enough. I suppose they find him strange, or perhaps too clumsy to work with. I don’t mind him. I think he’s lovely company when he comes out of his shell a little.

“It’s _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” I remind, correctly pronouncing the incantation as to help him along with it. It seems pronunciation is a common misplacement in this class, as Seamus, who’s working with Harry, has just set his feather on fire, and Hermione is looking rather frustrated with a confused Ron.

“Oh, well done!” claps Professor Flitwick looking Hermione’s way. I give her a warm smile as well when I see she’s preformed the charm with next to no trouble. “Everyone see here, Miss Granger’s done it!”

“ _Wingardium Leviosa,_ ” I enchant as I give the appropriate swish and flick, and in a matter of moments after Hermione, my feather, too, is floating above me, and Hermione looks just as pleased as I was with her. We both smile at each other happily, but I can’t help but catch Ron rolling his eyes to Harry.

“Well done, Miss Amethyst! Well done indeed! Many very bright witches and wizards in our first-year this year!” Flitwick cries happily.

“Come on, Neville, your turn,” I smile to the boy.

I spend the remainder of the lesson helping Neville with his charm, and by the end of it, he has the feather floating. I clap him on the back and he beams proudly. 

As we’re walking out I match-pace with the boys, finding them first after leaving the room. I catch Harry’s eyes and he smiles with a wave, but Ron simply huffs. Obviously our last lesson has him in a mood.

“It’s no wonder no one can stand her,” he says to Harry as we’re pushing our way through the crowded corridor. "She’s a nightmare, honestly.”

I take his arm and pull him to a stop, Harry stopping when he notices.

“I happen to like her very much! I don’t see the reason for you being this way to her. The only thing around here that’s a 'nightmare', Ronald Weasley, is _your_ attitude!” I reprimand him with an angry look.

“Go spend your time with _her_ then if you’re such best friends. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you hanging around us to get away from her,” he accuses. Wrongfully, I might add.

I’m about to retort when suddenly we’re each pushed apart by a girl with a familiar head of hair, and upon realising who it is, and what she’s most likely heard, I feel completely terrible for her.

“How dare you!” I shout at Ron before taking off after my best friend.

I chase Hermione down, having to ask a few others in the halls which way she’s gone, before I finally come across one of the girls bathrooms, which a third-year Ravenclaw nicely pointed me towards.

“Mione,” I whisper upon entering the lavatories. “Are you in here?”

I’m not met with a coherent answer, but the sounds of crying is as good a confirmation as any. I move deeper into the bathroom and push at the locked door, not knowing it’s locked, and then hear shuffling from the other side.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” I hear her ask in a defeated voice. “You do hang around them to get away from me.” I feel my heart break with her tone.

“Of course not, Mione. You are my best friend, and I wouldn’t trade you or what your like for anyone, I swear it’s true,” I try and convince her, but she simply continues to cry.

“You know,” I say gently as I sit down, “when I went to my first school, a Muggle school, that is, I was bullied. The other kids used to tease me for loving to learn so much, as if wanting to know things, to understand things was something to be made fun of… During my time in that place, I longed to find a friend like you… and I swear to you, I mean it.”

Hermione is quiet for a little while, only sniffles and breathing can be heard, until she finally speaks up again.

“Thank you… I believe you. I guess, just hearing Ron say it like that – am I… Am I really that much of a know it all?”

“Of course not! He’s just being stupid! I don’t know why he said what he said, but it isn’t true. I’m glad to be your friend.”

“Thank you, N/N. I’m glad we’re friends as well… but you should get to class. You’ll miss it if you hang around,” she whispers through another sniffle.

“Are you going to class?”

“No… I think I’ll stay in here for a while longer.”

“Well then I’ll stay in her with you. I’m not going to leave you in here by yourself to cry, Hermione. That’s not who I was brought up to be. Did you ever find out why my family name is known?”

“You don’t have to stay if it’s a bother, I don’t want you getting in trouble because of me… and no, I never did find anything.”

“Well no, that’ll be Ron’s fault if I get in trouble, not yours,” I start. “My family, or more specifically, the witches in my family – the Amethyst gene carriers – our magic is suppose to go back a very long time. We’re supposed to be able to use healing magic without any sort of incantation, or wand, just our hands and minds.”

“What do you mean ‘supposed’, can you not?”

“Well, it’s traditional for a mother to show her daughter how to tap into these abilities when they come of age, and as you know, my mum isn’t around anymore, so I’m not sure if I’ll be able to… but that’s beside the point.

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m an Amethyst, and Amethyst’s are born to help people. We’re born to heal, and help. So I’m not going to leave you here by yourself… I’ll stay here with you until you’re good and ready to leave here, and then I’ll stay with you out there as well, both because I’m an Amethyst, and because you are my best friend.”

I hear the stall unlock, and after a few more seconds I’m met with a tear-stained Mione with a sorrowful smile on her face. I smile sadly to her before pulling her into a hag, and she begins to cry once again.

“Why do people think of me like they do? It isn’t fair,” she sobs on my shoulder.

“Because they’re jealous. They’re jealous that you’re so brilliant and they’re not.”

Hermione and I stay in the bathroom for the rest of the afternoon, and by the time it’s evening, I think she’s finally coming right and ready to head down to the Great Hall for a meal and then upstairs where I suggested we trade Potions notes and study a little for the coming week.

Whilst being in here, I’ve had to ask a few different people to leave, a couple girls, though they seemed fine with it once they accessed the situation, and I’m grateful for them. I just think Hermione needed some time with a friend and a little silence to come right.

“You ready?” I ask as we stand, and I take her hand as we begin our way to the door.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I am hungry.”

I’m shocked from the silence as we’re turning to leave by Mione’s shrill scream, and once I turn to see what she’s screaming about, I, too, let out a loud yell of fright. Standing there, just within the girl’s bathroom door, stands a monstrous troll with a disgruntled, disgusting face, a huge stomach, a roar, and a large, wooden club. 

“Move!” I scream as it swings at us both, the club making contact with the wooden stall and shattering it to pieces, the shards and splinters falling atop where we’re crouched against the floor by the back wall.

I suddenly see someone else enter the room, or more, I see _two_ people enter the room. Ron and Harry. I don’t have much time to see their reactions to our current predicament because the troll is now swinging his club and shattering the porcelain sinks, smashing them, too, to pieces that are now littering the floor alongside us both.

“Confuse it!” I hear Harry call to Ron before picking up one of the dismantled taps and throwing it at the beast, the metal clonking the troll on the back of the head causing it to look about all confused. I sigh a sigh of relief now that it’s attention is off of Hermione and I, though if we can’t find a way past it, then it’ll all be for naught. The troll hesitates briefly before finally narrowing its gaze on the boys and making its way, lumbering towards them instead.

“Oi, pea brain!” yells Ron suddenly from the other side of the chamber before throwing and hitting it with a metal pipe, distracting it again. His gives Harry time to run around it.

“Come on, run, _run_!” Harry calls to us both as he tries pushing us towards the door. Hermione, however, is stuck still in absolute shock and can’t seem to move at all.

I take her shoulders and shake her to get her attention.

“Mione! We’ve gotta go! Come on! We need to get out of here!”

It’s no help though. She’s stuck still.

I see Harry move again from the corner of my eye, and have to hold back another scream, this one in protestation, when I see him throw himself at the troll, his arms wrapping around it’s large neck, and his feet kicked into its lumpy back. He’ll get himself killed! 

“Harry! What the bloody world are you doing?” I scream at him, but he doesn’t answer. He takes his wand and shoves it right up the oblivious trolls nose! It definitely noticed that.

The troll starts roaring in pain, thrashing its body around in an attempt to both remove Harry and dislodge the wand. If they keep this up, he’s going to get killed! Any second now the troll is going to get the upper hand and whack him into a wall, toss him off like a simple doll, or smack him with it’s club.

I see it looking around and it’s eyes land back on Hermione and I where she’s sat, and I’m trying quickly to get her to move. I remove my wand from my robes and shout the first spell that comes to mind.

“ _Lumos_!” In yell, causing my wand to erupt with light and briefly blind the beast.

I rip Hermione from her place just as the troll throws his club out randomly in hopes of hitting one of us and remove her from that exact place just in time for another sink to shatter, and the club to miss us by inches.

“Ron!” I yell to the stuck boy. “Do something!”

He seems to snap out of his fright with my voice, and suddenly it's as if he has an idea whilst looking to Mione. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but it better be good or else we’re dead meat.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_!” he chants just as Hermione had told him too in Charms earlier today. I’d smile at the irony of it if I weren’t so scared right now.

The club flies from the trolls hand, confusing the creature, and then it drops again, right on top of it’s head, causing it to sway for a moment, before falling with a terrible thump. I think he’s knocked out out!

“Terrific, Ron!” I call happily as he stares at what he’s achieved in awe of his own abilities.

Harry stands to his feet, and feverishly, Hermione lets me help her to hers as well. I smile to her and keep her hand clasped in mind as she shakes a little, mine doing the same. This is a lot, after all, being bundled up in a small room by a mountain troll of all things.

“Is it – dead?” Hermione is the first to speak after a few silent moments of nothing more than heavy breathing.

“I don’t think so,” replies Harry. “I think it’s just been knocked out.”

Harry bends down to retrieve his wand, and I grimace at the line of snot that follows it out, as do the rest if us. Harry wipes it on the troll’s trousers.

“Urgh – troll bogies.”

A sudden slamming of a door causes Hermione and I to jump in place, the four of us spinning around to face the bathrooms entrance to be met by a bewildered Professor McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell at the back. He seems to take one look at the troll and almost faints at the sight. He really isn’t much of a Dark Arts teacher, is he.

Snape looks over the troll, and McGonagall is glaring at Ron and Harry. I instantly feel bad, because if they hadn’t come to get us, they wouldn’t be in trouble right now. I don’t blame Hermione, however, this was a collective effort in the end.

“What on earth were you thinking of?” says McGonagall furiously, her eyes flashing back and forth between them with fiery anger. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Why aren’t you in your dormitory?”

Snape glares at Harry even more pointedly than McGonagall does, before his cold eyes and sneer land on me.

“Please, Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me,” Hermione suddenly pipes, and I quickly add on as well after McGonagall’s exclamation.

“Miss Granger!”

“Us – they were looking for us.”

“You as well Miss Amethyst!”

I look to Mione and she smiles a tiny smile of appreciation before looking to her feet, obviously not wanting to look her disappointment professor in the eye. I don’t either if I’m honest. I’ve come to like Professor McGonagall a lot, and I don’t want to see her cross with me.

“We went looking for the troll because I – I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know, because Y/N and I had been reading about them,” she starts.

“And so I said I’d help her,” I finish.

Both Harry and Ron look absolutely astonished at what’s unravelling before them. Hermione Granger, the apparent goody-two-shoes Hermione Grange, is telling a lie to a professor – no – three professors.

“If they hadn’t found us, we’d be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn’t have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived. Y/N, too.” I nod after she finishes.

“Well – in that case…” McGonagall starts, staring at all four of us. “Miss Granger, Miss Amethyst, you foolish girls, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?”

Hermione hangs her head, and I look to our professor apologetically, fiddling with my wand in my hands.

“Miss Granger and Miss Amethyst, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this,” states she. “I’m very disappointment in you both. If you’re not hurt at all, you’d better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students will be finishing the feast in their houses.”

I nod and both Hermione and I leave. I take her hand and we both walk in soundless-silence all the way back to the dorms.

“That was a brave thing you did, Hermione,” I finally break said silence as we’re just over three-quarters of the way there. “You did the right thing.”

“Thank you, for sticking with me, N/N.”

“What are friends for, Mione?” I smile.


	9. ~8 - Quidditch~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry plays his first game of Quidditch, and Y/N and Hermione light Snape on fire. Just a normal day at Hogwarts. Nothing to see here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that while writing this story, I am reading from the book. This is because I'm OCD with plot and ant everything to align with Harry Potter properly, though, if you'll notice, I make it my mission to not only inject the original story with our Y/N character, but also re-write the story within my own words with the fitting style as to not completely plagiarize the works of J.K.Rowling. 
> 
> It is imperative that I state here and now that I do not own anything within the world of Harry Potter apart from my added character(s), their stories, and any added plot not there before. Thank you.

November approached and fell upon us all faster than anticipated. By now, the mountain peaks are thick with snow from the quick-cold, and the mornings and evenings both are rarely without a dense fog. Students of all ages have taken to wearing their warmer clothes, even within the castle, some even slipping thick jumpers on under their robes for classes.

I overheard one of the poor Hufflepuff boys fell into the Black Lake yesterday, and now he’s chattering a few rows over. His friend said he was pushed, but it was deduced to simply be the strong gusts of wind.

The stone paths leading around the castle are like packed-ice with how cold they are to the touch, and each window’s glass holds frost around its boarders. It was only a few days ago I was staring out the same windows and thinking back to mine and Hermione’s day in the castle’s gardens that lovely, Autumn afternoon. Now we’d be lucky not to catch our death staying out there for so long.

Since our incident with the troll this passed October, Hermione has been much happier with being within the boy’s presence, and for that I’ve been grateful, because I’ve been able to hang around all of my friends at once rather than Hermione one moment and Harry and Ron another. They’ve been appreciating it as well, as I know Harry would be terribly behind with his homework if not for my best friend.

Today, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and myself are out in the courtyard, with Mione’s help of course. She conjured us up a brilliant-blue fire that sits inside a jam jar that we can carry around with us to keep warm.

We’re all stood and keeping warm around it when Snape suddenly begins his approach, and immediately I feel a sigh of discontent flow through my being. Snape still hates me with a fiery passion, especially seeing as I won’t back down when he’s bullying Harry or I, or sometimes he’ll even have a go at Hermione, and he hates it. I’ve earned many detentions over it, and I’m sure if McGonagall would allow it he’d have gotten rid of me already, but luckily for me, she still seems to like me, regardless of the incident with the troll, and insists that Professor Snape is being ridiculous in his inquiries of expulsion.

Today, it seems, he has a limp. I kind of hope it’s hurting him to be frank. I am not a mean person, nor have I ever been, but Snap brings out the exception in me that I never thought I’d have. Him and a few of the Slytherins, that is.

“What’s that you’ve got there, Potter?” Harry’s currently reading _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , at mine and Hermione’s recommendation. He shows Snape the book. “Library books are not to be taken outside the school,” he sneers. “Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor.”

“You’ve just made that rule up!” I exclaim loudly drawing the attention of a few other students. “You can’t be serious!”

“Deadly, Miss Amethyst. I advise you keep your mouth shut for once or I’ll be forced to make you.”

I scowl at him as he lumbers away, the limp in his step.

“Please stop making him hate you more,” Hermione sighs from my side. “You know you’ll only make this worse for yourself.”

“I don’t care much about that, Mione. I don’t care much for him being a prat, either. When he’s being one, I’m going to pull him up. It’s how I was raised. To respect my elders unless they’re undeserving. And he, Hermione Jean Granger, is undeserving.”

“I wonder what’s wrong with his leg?” says Harry after passing me an appreciative look.

“Dunno, but I hope it’s really hurting him,” Ron answers, to which I nod in agreement.

As the evening rolls around, the four of us are now sat by the Common Room windows within Gryffindor Tower. I’m looking over my Potions and Transfiguration work while Hermione checks over the boys' Charms homework for them. It’s rather loud tonight, though I suppose that comes with the excitement and anticipation of tomorrow’s coming Quidditch game.

Harry suddenly rises to his feet from where he’s sat and tells the three of us that he’s headed to find Snape to collect his book back.

“Better you than me,” both Hermione and Ron seemingly answer together, causing them both to scowl halfheartedly at the other. I sigh and stand as well.

“I’ll come with you, Harry. Leave them to do whatever it is they do when I’m not around.”

“You know exactly what I do when you aren’t around, Y/N,” Hermione retorts without even glancing up from her marking. I smile and nod. She’s right. I do.

Harry nods and the two of us leave the warmth of the Common Room to make our way to the staff room. Once we’re here, Harry knocks on the door gently, but nothing happens. Perhaps no one’s in. He tries again, a little harder this time, but still, there’s nothing.

“I don’t think anyone’s in there, Harry,” I tell him.

“Maybe he’s left my book in there,” he replies before opening the door to peer inside. We’re met with a horrible sight. Both Snape and Filch are inside, alone, and Snape is holding his robes above his knee. One of his legs is bloodied and torn, as if he’s been attacked by something, or maybe even someone.

“Blasted thing,” Snape is saying to Filch. “How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?”

After coming from the shock of seeing both the worst people in Hogwarts and the blood, Harry tries to quietly shut the door once again, but to no avail of not being noticed, as Snape is quick to loudly shout his name.

“POTTER!”

Both Harry and I jump backwards after his exclamation, startled by his sudden roar. He looks angry, his voice layered with beseechingly and chilling urgency of sorts.

“I just wondered if I could have my book back,” Harry says with a small voice.

“GET OUT! OUT!” Snape screams.

I yelp at his sudden scream and quickly grasp at Harry’s hand, dragging him from the room and back towards Gryffindor Tower as quickly as possible. I’ve tested Snape’s patients through quite a few classes it might seem, but _I’ve_ never even seen him that viciously seething before. I finally release the just-as-shocked boy’s hand once we’ve entered again, both of our eyes wide and breathing laboured.

“Did you get it?” Ron asks as we both move back over to them still slightly stunned. “What’s the matter?”

“Snape – he…” I begin, still trying to put things together myself.

“Snape what?” asks Mione.

“He screamed at us to leave, so we left… he – well – do you think he’s after it, Harry? Whatever’s down there?”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Ron interjects.

“When we got there, we saw Snape and Filch, and Snape’s leg was bleeding. Said something about the three-headed dog we found,” Harry informs. “You know what that means?”

This time I’m our informer. “It means he tried to get past the three-headed dog at Halloween!”

“That’s where he was going when we saw him – he’s after whatever it’s guarding!” Harry continues. “And I’d bet my broomstick _he_ let that troll in, to create a diversion!”

Hermione’s eyes widen upon hearing the quite-serious allegation towards our Potions Professor. Ron, too, looks vaguely shocked, though a little as if he’s pieced together the same answer.

“No – he wouldn’t,” she says suddenly. “I know he’s not very nice, but he wouldn’t try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe.”

“Honestly, Hermione,” Ron’s the one to add on this time, “you think all teachers are saints or something. I’m with Harry and Y/N. I wouldn’t put anything past Snape. But what’s he after? What’s that dog guarding?”

“Ron, don’t be rude! She’s right to question it, even I’m unsure… it’s a very serious thing to accuse someone of, after all,” I back up my best friend, her looking to me appreciatively. I nod and smile to her.

The rest of our night is spent thinking over the information we have so far. Snape _was_ talking about that dog on the trapdoor, there’s no other answer, but could he really be looking to steal whatever it’s protecting? And what _is_ it protecting, anyway? It’s got to be something important, right? Important enough for Dumbledore to keep it a secret from everyone.

By the next morning I’m still a little tired after laying awake for too long and thinking about all the variables for our little conundrum we’ve found ourselves looking into. It’s terribly cold this morning, though, so that’s sure to keep my awake if nothing else.

I smile to Hermione when I meet the three of them within the Great Hall for breakfast. I sit beside her and across from both the boys, taking a fried egg and topping a piece of toast with it. I take a bite before looking across to Harry.

“Is he alright? He looks like he’s going to be sick,” I ask Hermione. “Has he been like this all morning, or has something happened?”

“He’s just worried about today’s game is all, I’m sure,” she tells before turning to the aforementioned boy. “You’ve got to eat some breakfast.”

“I don’t want anything,” he replies curtly, still looking to his empty plate with unease.

“Just a bit of toast,” she tries again.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Harry, please, I know you feel terrible right now, but not eating will only make it worse. Plus, it’s your first game, I’m sure they’ll all go easy on you,” I try to comfort. “One piece of fruit and we’ll leave you be.”

Mum always used to make me eat when I was scared for something. It’d always be the same thing. ‘Have one piece of fruit, and I’ll leave you be,’ she’d say, and I’d abide. After all, she was my mum, and she was always right. It’d help as well, as I wouldn’t be feeling all run down and without energy through not eating anything that morning.

“No they won’t,” pipes an annoying twin.

“Nearly died my first game,” replies the other, as always, joined-at-the-hip twin.

“Oh shove off! Don’t make this worse!” I tell them, turning to them with a frown. They simply huff and laugh, wink knowingly that they’re doing exactly that, and go back to what they’re doing.

“Harry, you need your strength,” Seamus Finnigan adds in, and I’m about to smile to him in thanks before he continues. “Seekers are always the ones who get nobbled by the other team.”

I huff and growl at the Finnigan boy under my breath.

“Thanks, Seamus,” Harry sighs.

To my pleasure, though, and bringing a smile to my face, Harry takes my word and picks up a green apple to nibble at.

By eleven, Hermione, Ron, and I are all seated within the Gryffindor section of the Quidditch Stadium stands waiting with bated breath and excitement for Harry – and the rest of our team – to come out and begin their game. There’s no saying what’s going on behind the scenes, but hopefully they’re giving him a pep talk to lift his spirits.

“Do you think he’s going to be alright?” I ask the girl at my side.

“You worry for him a lot, don’t you. I’m sure everything will be fine,” Mione tries to calm me.

“Yes, but that’s only because – our families have history, Mione, I just-”

“You’re worried that you’ll let your mum down because of what she told you, I know, it’s okay I understand,” she soothes again.

It isn’t very often you’ll find the caring and cautious side of Hermione Granger. She’s mostly known for her forwardness and logical thinking, but there are times in which she can get like this, a friend who isn’t here to tell you what you should or shouldn’t be feeling and why, but a friend who simply wants to comfort. This is one of my favourite sides of her. 

I imagine, sometimes, that if I ever met my sister, I’d want her to be just like Mione.

Ron is stood closer to Neville, Seamus, and Dean, and Hermione’s stood next to him, me at her opposing side. We’re each wearing our Gryffindor attire in good and team spirit. I’m wearing Connie’s, of course, she told me last night that I must owl her to tell her how Harry’s first game goes.

The boys are currently holding up a large banner made of a sheet that reads ‘ _Potter for President_ ’, with a lion painted beneath. Hermione even charmed the banner to flash the crimson and gold colours for them, which Ron was happy about.

“Look!” I call as I watch our team leave their changing rooms.

Harry is walking just behind both Fred and George, out team's Beaters, and just as he did at breakfast, he looks as though he might be sick. We all cheer for them loudly as they appear and make their way to Madam Hooch, who’s acting as the referee for today’s game.

“Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,” I hear her warn the gathered players, though she seems to be focused mostly on Slytherins Captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth-year boy with a horrid face to say the least. “Mount your brooms, please.”

The players all clamber upon their brooms as instructed and await Madam Hooch’s start. They’re all raising up so terrifically high in the air, that I imagine some might feel themselves fall sick upon looking at the distance between them and the ground far, far below.

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angeline Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too-” Lee Jordan commentates from his place.

“JORDAN!” I laugh as he’s reprimanded by Professor McGonagall for his last comment.

“Sorry, Professor,” he apologises not sounding the least bit ‘ _sorry’_ at all.

“And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood’s, last year only a reserve – back to Johnson – no, Slytherin have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there – he’s going to sc– no, stopped by an extreme move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and Gryffindor take the Quaffle – that’s Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and – OUCH – that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger – Quaffle taken by Slytherin – that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off towards the goalposts, but he’s blocked by the second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes – she’s really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – the goalposts are ahead – come on, now Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!”

“Budge up there, move along.”

“Hagrid!” I hear a sudden exclamation breaking my attention from the game before me. I turn to see Hagrid lumbering towards us all through the other spectators, and the three of us, Ron, Hermione, and I, all bunch up slightly to give him some room.

“Bin watchin’ from me hut,” he says when he’s finally settled in his spot. “But it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?”

I smile to the looming man of jovial hair and red cheeks before looking back to the match again, blocking them out. I hope they aren’t trying to include me, as I’d most definitely seem rude, but I don’t want to take my attention from the game.

Harry hasn’t much moved yet, apart from to move out of the way every once in a while, but apart from such, he’s just been sat and keenly watching over his team mates, his opponents, and looking for the Snitch. I suppose this is their game plan, to keep Harry above and out of the way until he finds what he’s looking for, and I approve. It was rather funny watching him do his loop-the-loops after Angelina’s score.

I see one of the twins fly up to him to beat a Bludger towards Marcus before Lee is speaking again.

“Slytherin in possession – Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell and speeds towards the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?”

I immediately try to find where the Snitch has been spotted. It’s quick to pass Slytherin’s player Pucey, causing him to drop the Quaffle, and I laugh at his stupidity. Harry must have seen it, too, because now he's diving towards it and my heart is beating frantically in anticipation. The Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs seems to have seen it as well because now he and Harry are racing for it, though Harry’s faster than the Slytherin Seeker – he’s reaching for it! He’s going to get it!

WHAM!

I gasp as I watch Harry spin out of control as Flint purposely blocks him from the zipping, golden prize.

“Foul!” we scream from the stands.

Madam Hooch thought so, too, because now she’s giving Flint some angry words and has given Gryffindor a free shot at the goal, but it seems, sadly, that the Snitch has effectively evaded Harry for now, as no one can seem to see it now. Dean suddenly yells out towards them.

“Send his off, ref! Red card!”

“This isn’t football, Dean,” Ron tells the boy. “You can’t send people off in Quidditch.”

“So,” Lee Jordan continues, “after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-”

“Jordan!” McGonagall has to pipe again.

“I mean, after that open and revolting foul-”

“ _Jordan, I’m warning you_ -” I laugh aloud at the two’s interaction, Hermione shaking her head at it beside me.

“All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker-” he goes on.

“I hate him putting it like that… makes me anxious,” I whisper to Mione.

“Which could happen to anyone, I’m sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to play, Gryffindor still in possession,” says Lee.

The game continues, and I watch as the Quaffle is passed from player to player before looking back to check on Harry, only to see that he seems to be having some trouble with his broom. He’s jutting, bucking, and zigzagging here, there, and everywhere, and no one else seems to have noticed yet. This cannot just be Harry’s doing, it simply can’t.

“Mione,” I gain the girl’s attention. “Does Harry’s broom look a little – funny – to you? You’ve read about jinxes, yes?”

Hermione looks to Harry and her eyes widen, and all the while, Lee continues to commentate.

“Slytherin in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherin score – oh no…”

The entirety of the Slytherin stands is in an uproar for the acquired points, so much so, that they still haven’t seemed to notice Harry’s strange movements. I’m still stuck with my eyes glued to him, as is Hermione.

“Dunno what Harry thinks he’s doing,” mumbles Hagrid from our side. “If I didn’ know better, I’d say he’d lost control of his broom… but he can’t have…” Hagrid takes his binoculars down and furrows his brow.

“Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?” asks Seamus.

“Can’t have,” comes Hagrid’s reply. “Can’t nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark Magic – no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.”

After hearing Hagrid’s words, Hermione quickly takes his binoculars and begins surveying the crowds for anyone who might be causing Harry this grief. I place my hand on her shoulder and follow her line of sight as well, seeking out the culprit.

“What are you doing?” groans Ronald.

“I knew it,” she replies, and I look to where she is wide eyed. “Snape – look.”

And indeed it is Snape. For within the stands across from us, he’s sat and muttering away to himself, not once taking his eyes from Harry, and staring on with such determination it makes my stomach squeeze. I cannot believe this horrible man is going to such great lengths to hurt Harry, but, again, I wouldn’t put it past him.

By the time I’ve zoned back into what they’re discussing, Hermione is grabbing at my hand and dragging me off somewhere, and I, being her best friend, follow without question. After all, it’s Hermione Granger, she obviously has a plan, and if she needs me for it, then so be it.

By the time we make it all the way across to the other side of the stadium, Harry has all but fallen completely from his broom. He’s hanging from it by just the tips of his fingers at this stage. I gasp when I see one of his hands leave the stick completely, and blink away my shock when I see him desperately latch on again. I turn to find Hermione, just to see her pushing her way past Professor Quirrell, knocking the stuttering mess of a professor into the row in front of him. I, too, race past him just as Mione is setting the bottom of Snape’s robes alight with her blue flame, and once he’s yelled out, she takes the light back again and stuffs it back into the jar of which she first claimed it.

“Come on, lets get out of here!” I call to her over the yells from the stands concerning Snape, and a pushed over Quirrell, taking her hand and running off back to the boys. “Quickly!”

I look up again to see Harry speeding towards the ground, and I let a strangled yelp leave my throat thinking he’s plummeting to his death, and that we had failed in stopping Snape from his tampering. I breathe a sigh, however, when I notice him pull up again and shout to the crowd.

He’s just caught the Golden Snitch. Harry’s just won the game!

I grasp Hermione by her shoulders and shake her in happiness, cheering with the rest of our house.

“He did it!” I cry, and she simply laughs and jumps up and down along with me before we both run off to meet up with him and Ron.

Later the same evening, Hermione, Ron, Harry, and of course, myself, are all sitting within Hagrid’s hut and talking with him about what had happened during the game over a few mugs of black tea.

“It was Snape,” Ron gasps around the lips of his mug. “Hermione, Y/N, and me saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“Hermione, Y/N, and _I_ ,” I adjust the boys sentence, though it seems to fall on deaf ears. I roll my eyes in amusement.

“Rubbish,” Hagrid adds. “Why would Snape do somethin’ like that?”

Our small group seems to share a few glances before Harry decides to reveal our collective thoughts with Hagrid, and, seeing his reaction upon hearing it, he isn’t pleased, nor believing in said thoughts.

“I found something out about him,” he tells Hagrid. “He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it’s guarding.”

“How do you know about Fluffy?” he decides to direct the conversation.

“ _Fluffy?_ ” we all question collectively.

“Yeah – he’s mine – brought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las’ year – I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the-”

“Yes,” encourages Harry wondrously.

“Now, don’t ask me any more,” says Hagrid in a huff. “That’s top secret, that is.”

“But Snape’s trying to _steal_ it.”

“Rubbish. Snape’s a Hogwarts teacher, he’d do nothin’ of the sort.”

“So why did he just try and kill Harry?” Hermione interjects. “I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, as does Y/N, she was the one to suggest it, and we’ve read all about them! You’ve got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn’t blinking at all, I saw him!”

“Not to mention that once we lit him on fire Harry’s broom stopped acting up,” I add quietly from my place.

“You did _what_?” Hagrid booms, stunned. “I’m tellin’ yeh, yer wrong! I don’t know why Harry’s broom acted up like that, but Snape wouldn’ try an’ kill a student! Now, listen to me, all four of yeh – yer meddlin’ in things that don’ concern yeh. It’s dangerous. You forget that dog, an’ you forget what it’s guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicolas Flamel-”

“Aha!” Harry calls as if he’s reached a point of eureka. “So there’s someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?”

Hagrid, the poor man, looks absolutely furious with himself.


	10. ~9 - The Trouble With Newton~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N finds herself a friend, but said friend decides to run amuck during a class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a happy little filler chapter <3

December in Scotland is absolutely beautiful.

Imagine the quilts of silvery-white-glisten snow draped across it’s fields, forests, mountains, and more. Snow flurries dripping from trees in small clumps of congealed ice and wind. Grey, vast, covering callus-clouds conjured to accumulate and hide the sun away. The calming, reaching frosts climbing glass and leaves. Thick, glass-ice locking those living within the Black Lake beneath it’s surface until the weather deems they’re once again able to breach.

Yes. December in Scotland is absolutely beautiful.

This morning I woke to find the grounds completely covered with the snow from the storm that passed last night. I expected it to begin soon, as we’re maybe half-way through December, meaning both the snow and Christmas was soon to come, and I noticed, upon waking particularly early, that one has come today, and so now, an hour before I’m supposed to be within the Great Hall for breakfast, I’m stood outside and looking about.

My shoes crunch satisfyingly through the icy-crystal accumulation, the sounds of early-rising birds calling off in the cold distance. I wonder if they’re as cold as I am? I’m freezing! But I can’t convince myself to leave the sight just yet.

We used to get snow back home during the Christmas season and through the first few months of the new year, but it was never as beautiful as this. I’ve always loved the cold. Loved the snow. I’ve never really thought why, but I know that I don’t much mind not understanding, I just enjoy, well, enjoying it.

Mum never liked the cold, however, and she’d refuse to let me out within the snow when I was younger through fear of me getting sick. I used to find myself mad at her for not letting me, but as the years grew in number, and my willingness to understand progressed, I came to understand that she was simply looking out for me, and that she had every right to be frightened by my falling ill. She had, after all, already lost my sister.

The horrible side of our Amethyst Healing Gift, is that we cannot use it on those of us with said gift. That’s why mum never taught it too me even when I begged and begged her too when she was once ill herself. ‘It doesn’t work like that, sweetheart,” she’d said. ‘If it did… we’d be much better off.’

It wasn’t until a few years later that I realised she was speaking about my sister at that time.

From the corner of my eye, I see something dash from one area to another. I glance that way hoping to see it again, but I don’t, and so I move over to investigate further. The snow crunches beneath me as I approach the area I saw whatever it was, to find a small trail through the snow no deeper than that left by a house cat, though I’m sure all of our cats are staying warm in the castle, so it can’t be that.

I hear shuffling from my right and turn just in time to see the body of a dark-brownish to black creature dashing underneath a nearby bush. Definitely not a house cat. I move cautiously over to the bush and crouch down in the snow, the small grunt of the animal hidden murmuring from the shrub. I move the branches back to find a plump creature with very dark, short fur, a small tail, four, little legs, black eyes, and a long snout reminiscent to a ducks bill.

“A Niffler?” I ask aloud after recognising it’s species. “What on earth are you doing out here in the cold?”

I reach towards the creature, recognising it from one of my favourite books, and a couple others, knowing that the beast, although generally wild, should most definitely be within it’s burrow this time of the year. It’s much to cold for the poor thing. He’ll catch his death out here.

The creature shies away from my touch, quite unsurprisingly as I’m a stranger to him, and backs up further into the bush. The poor things looks scared. I need to think of a way to get him out of the cold… In Newt Scamander’s book, he talked about the Niffler enjoying sparkly objects like the metals and gems of jewellery, but I’m not currently wearing any, however, I did slip a pin into my hair this morning… perhaps he’ll come for that.

I unpin my hair and show the small Niffler the glittering object, his interest immediately piquing as he spots it, and, a little apprehensively, he makes his way closer before placing his little hands on mine, asking me to release it. The pin is old, and one I’ve had since I was young, passed down from my mother’s father’s mother, so I can’t let him keep it, but for now, if it’ll get him to trust me, I’ll let him hold on to it.

“If I give you this, will you let me help you?” I ask the creature gently, and the simple reply comes in the form of him removing both his hands before placing them back down again. I smile and chuckle before handing over the pin and letting him look it over, before stuffing it in his pouch and taking my hand again. “I’m sorry… I don’t have anything more on me right now, but…”

Nifflers are also known to be quite hungry, a lot of the time, and they love food.

“Would you like something to eat?” The animal doesn’t shy away this time as I lean forward to pick him up, and immediately he seems to appreciate my warmth as he tries burrowing closer to me within my arms. “Let’s get you some food then.”

I stand with the little Niffler and begin making my way back into the castle. I’ll need to sneak him into the Great Hall somehow. Maybe I can take him in my book bag. I do have classes after. Then again, I’m not sure if taking him into Transfiguration is the best plan…

“I need to name you, little guy. Would you like that?” I asks the adorable little critter. “But what – wait! I’ll call you Newton! Little Newton Scamander! It’s perfect!”

I hug the creature close to me and hurry through the corridors towards Gryffindor Tower.

I’ve a fascination with Newton Scamander. I love his book, and all the stories about the adventures he went on within it. Not only is it an amazing informational document, it’s also an unbelievable story. One I love very much. He loved his creatures, all the ones he protected, and I admire him very much.

I enter my dorm quietly and shuffle around in my bag, moving things around as to make room for Newton. I then place him down and am quick to pick it up when I hear Mione waking from her bed.

“Y/N?” she asks tiredly. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Oh! I was just walking about the castle, it snowed over night – I wanted to go out and see before breakfast.”

My bag moves a little, which catches Mione’s attention. “What’s in there?” she asks.

I look at her with wide eyes before seeing a sleeping Misses on my bed, and thinking quickly, I answer, “It’s a mouse that Misses must have drug in. I’m going off to release it now. I’ll see you at breakfast, Hermione!”

I really hope she doesn’t remember that I’m afraid of mice and wouldn’t touch one given the option. I’d tell her about Newton, but I feel she’d want me not to take him to breakfast with me. She’s responsible in those ways as I’m not. I’d love nothing more than to bring him for something to eat.

“Come along, Newton… Let’s go get you some food.”

Sneaking Newton into breakfast was no trouble, nor was getting him to keep quiet whilst I fed him a few different pieces of toast, and let him hold on to three spoons and a fork, and for the most party he kept quiet, until he caused the silverware to clatter, forcing me to pretend I dropped my own spoon.

Transfiguration rolls around fast, and in no time, both Newton and I are fed and sitting in class listening as Professor McGonagall goes over the rules of transfiguring one thing into another thing, showing us as she transforms a small snail into a blue bird and then a silver and sapphire pendant. I watch in awe of her magic before the entire class is interrupted by the small clatter coming from under my feet.

“Miss Amethyst?” McGonagall calls upon me. “What have you got there?”

“Nothing, professor. I just accidentally kicked my book bag,” I tell her, looking to my notes sheepishly in hopes she believes me.

“I suggest you clear out some of the bag's content when you find yourself with the chance, Miss Amethyst. It sounds as though it’s in need of such.”

I nod and look to my bag to find the flap open, and my Niffler friend, Newton, missing. I frantically begin looking around the room in hopes of spotting him before someone else does, but I can’t see him anywhere. That is, until McGonagall has put her transfigured pendant onto her desk, and I see a small, pinkish hand reaching for it. I gasp as he takes it in hand, and McGonagall looks to me again.

“Something wrong, Miss Amethyst?”

“Uh – no – Professor… I just remembered that… never mind, it’s nothing,” I dodge, earning a round of snickers and confused looks.

“Very well. Please do your best to pay attention.”

“Of course, Professor.”

I pull my attention back to Newton where he’s watching me from beneath McGonagall’s desk with the pendant slowly being pushed into his greedy little pouch. I try and make him understand through eye contact alone that he needs to come back immediately, but that seems to be the last thing he wants to do, as now he’s spotted something else glittery. A book with jewels encrusted across it’s spine, and he’s going straight for it.

“Miss Amethyst, what, care to tell, are the measures would one should take when transfiguring an animate creature into an inanimate object?”

My attention, seemingly snapping all about the place, once again, falls on her with my eyes wide.

“Pardon me?”

“If you were listening, you should be able to tell me what measures one should take before the transfiguration process,” she states pointedly. I sink into my chair a little glancing around before returning eye contact.

“One should generally cast a preliminary stationary spell to halt its movements… so they can’t – you know – move out of the way.”

She looks at me for a moment longer before deeming my answer worthy and telling us it’s time were off to our next class. I quickly stand and wait for everyone to leave the room and then I dart in the direction of the bookshelf here I last spotted my Niffler. I begin pulling the books from the shelves in my attempt to find him.

“What are you doing, Miss Amethyst? Looking for a book?” I hear from behind me, causing me to abruptly drop the book I’m holding on my foot and yelp, which in tandem, causes the Niffler to dart from the shelf and back to my bag where he’s deemed is safe.

I turn to face my professor to find an impatient look upon her face, and yet a small smile in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, professor… I – uh – I just-”

“Where did you find it?” she asks as she walks towards my bag and collects it from the ground, the content cluttering around from the inside. " assume you found it and didn’t bring it with you?”

“Yes, Professor,” I sigh in dejection. “I found him this morning… he was cold and hungry, and I think maybe he was out foraging and his burrow was buried in last night’s snow.”

“He?”

“Um – yes – I named him Newton, ma’am.”

I hear her chuckle gently under her breath as the creature pops his head from my bag and looks at me expectantly. I shoo him away though, but apparently not in time, as now he’s holding out one of his spoons to me.

“I’m not upset with you, Newton, it’s okay,” I sooth him, as he obviously feels he’s done something wrong, though nothing he’s done isn’t within his nature, meaning it isn’t his fault.

“I suppose that’s the silverware from the Great Hall?”

“Yes… he was looking at it this morning… I was going to bring it back, but he just looked so happy, and-”

“Miss Amethyst, I suggest you take your little Scamander Junior down to Hagrid. I’m sure he’ll have a place for him, but you cannot bring creatures into the school like that,” she scolds while suggesting a place for him.

“I know… I’m sorry, again. He just looked so cold, and – hang on… Scamander Junior?”

“I’m assuming he’s who you’ve named the fellow after?”

I smile and nod before taking my bag from her, with the Niffler, and taking him out. I tickle him above the professor’s desk, as Newt said is what’s to be done to reclaim stowed items, and watch as they all pour out. I take up the book Newton took and the pendant and hand them over to McGonagall, to which she tuts and collects them.

“I’ll take the spoons and such back to the Hall, Professor just as soon as I’ve taken him to Hagrid.”

“Let him keep them,” I hear her tell as she looks to the animal, and I can see the soft spot she’s already formed for him. “But nothing else is to go astray, Miss Amethyst. I mean it. I’m placing trust in you to get that Niffler to our Game Keeper and to not detour from such.”

I nod happily and gladly hand Newton back his spoons, and my pin, before stowing him away again, shouting her a thanks, and rushing off to Hagrid’s.

I knock on the door quickly once I’ve reached him, and he’s quick to open with a look of confusion on his face.

“Hello, Hagrid… I’ve – can I come in for just a moment? I have something for you.”

“O’ course yeh can. Come on then,” he laughs as he lets me through, and as soon as I am, I sit my bag down and take up the Niffler for the umpteenth time today.

“Where on earth did yeh get tha’?” he asks as he looks him over.

“This is Newton, and I assume his burrow was buried in the snow… I found him this morning, and have been trying to look after him, but he’s much too much of a handful with classes, and Professor McGonagall suggested I bring him to you. He like’s toast with blackberry jam the best. I think he’d like that in the morning, and I hope you can take him… I don’t want him to get cold because he can’t find his way home,” I tell him all in a rush.

“Don’t you be worryin’,” Hagrid says after a moment. “I’ve got us some blackberry jam somewhere ‘round ‘ere. I’m sure we’ll get along.”

I smile and grin down to the Niffler.

“Now you be good for Hagrid, Newton, or you’ll get no toast… I’ll come and visit, if you’re still here…”

After giving the Niffler one last hug, I thank Hagrid again before taking off for next my class.


	11. ~10 - A Hogwarts Christmas~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N, Ron, Harry, and Hermione search the library for Flamel, until Christmas rolls around and Hermione's off for her holiday. Y/N receives a very lovely gift from Mrs Evens, and plays th3e boys a tune.

Though the December winters of Scotland are indeed beautiful, and I love the cold dearly, there are times in which I could do without the cold. Such as today. Today must be the coldest of days yet, and to our most complete misfortune, we’re to spend it’s full morning within Hogwarts’ dungeons attending classes with Professor Snape and the Slytherins. How lovely for us…

“I do feel so sorry,” Draco Malfoy begins from his end of the Potions class, “for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they aren’t wanted at home.” He’s looking straight at Harry as he speaks snobbishly as if he’s above everyone and everything in his presence. Unfortunately for him, he seems completely blind to the fact that I, personally, as well as many others, I’m sure, hold him no higher than the dirt we’ll walk on outdoors.

“Or those who’s families are dead,” Pansy Parkinson continues on.

I’m not going to react to her pestering, as I’m sure, in Snape’s presence, I’ll only get myself into trouble for no reason. It’d be different were she telling it to any one of my friends, but as it’s just me, I’ll choose to ignore her, grit my teeth, and get through this lesson without incident.

Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson are each snickering away in their corner. I simply roll my eyes and smile to Mione, assuring her I’m alright.

I feel worse for Harry than myself and what I’m dealing with. After Gryffindor bet Slytherin in the Quidditch game, Malfoy and his goons have been giving him an even worse time than they were before. Harry’s asked me to stop sticking up for him as he’s worried I’ll only get myself into more trouble, and to his knowledge, I’ve kept my thoughts to myself whenever he and they’re involved. However, when I’m left with them, I don’t hesitate to stand up for the boy. He doesn’t deserve what they’re doing, after all, and so I refuse to stand for it.

I’m not going home for Christmas this year, that much they’ve got right, but it isn’t because my family is dead. It’s because I want to give Connie some time with her daughter and daughter’s family for once. I’m not often able to travel, due to the peculiarity and giveaway of my eyes, and so she’s often unable to visit. This year will be perfect for her to see her daughter’s entire family without issue.

Harry’s said he isn’t going to be going home for the holiday either, and I understand. Especially after hearing all of the horrid things about his good-for-nothing aunt and uncle, and his thicker-than-bricks, in two separate ways, cousin.

Ron and his brothers will be staying as well, due to their parents and sister (Molly, Arthur, and Ginny) heading off to Romania to see their other son Charlie. According to Ron, he’s there working with dragons. I’d love to see one for myself one day.

I breathe a sigh of relief once we’re released from out Potions class and stand to leave it with Ron, Hermione, and Harry in tow. We’re pacing through the frigid corridors until we’re blocked from our path by the appearance of a large fir tree.

“Hi, Hagrid,” Ron greets before sticking his head into the tree’s needles, “want any help?”

“Nah, I’m all right, thanks, Ron,” Hagrid answers in his usual kind and jovial tone.

“Would you mind moving out of the way?” come’s Malfoy’s sickeningly posh and yet brash tone. “Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose – that hut of Hagrid’s must seem like a palace compared to what your family’s used to.”

“You retched snake!” I yell at the platinum-blond. Ron lunges for him rather than retorting however, and gets himself caught by Snape as he ascends the stairs and enters the area.

“WEASLEY!” he shouts aggressively, causing Ron to release Malfoy’s robes.

“He was provoked, Professor Snape,” Hagrid defends from his place still under the tree. “Malfoy was insulting his family.”

“Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid. Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn’t more. Move along, all of you.”

“Hey! He instigated the damned fight! Are you not going to punish Malfoy!” I yell in disbelief. To be fair, I should be believing these things when they happen nowadays, seeing as Snape himself is just as slimy as his governed house. “You’ve got to be-”

Hermione’s had is suddenly smacked over my mouth and muffling my angry shouts. Snape simply sneers at me and continues on his way, Malfoy and his troops following after him triumphantly.

“I thought we spoke about this,” Hermione says after releasing me again. “You said you’d stop.”

“Yeah, I did, but he’s been a right git all day, and I’ve had _enough_ of it! He doesn’t get to insult someone else's family as if he’s a clue what they’re actually like, nor what their situation truly entails. I wont stand for that – _You_ _know_ that.”

“I’ll get him,” says Ron after giving my an appreciative smile. “One of these days, I’ll get him-”

“I hate them both,” adds Harry. “Malfoy and Snape.”

“Indeed,” I grumble.

“Come on, cheer up, it’s nearly Christmas,” says Hagrid, who’s still with-tree. “Tell yeh what, come with me an’ see the Great Hall, looks a treat.”

I smile happily thinking about the surely extravagant Christmas décor to be awaiting us. Mum used to love dressing the house for Christmas, after all. She used to let me chose and charm the star every year. Last year, for example, I was every so intrigued by golden glitter, and so I chose the sparkliest star I could and enchanted it to glimmer as if it’s raining glittering, gold snow. This year, I feel like I’m leaning more towards a brilliant golden and crimson tree, the perfect fix for making Gryffindor. Plus, the colours do flow together beautifully.

We follow Hagrid from the corridor and into the Great Hall where we find Professor McGonagall and Flitwick decorating it lavishly.

“Ah, Hagrid, the last tree – put it in the far corner, would you?” Professor McGonagall instructs from her place,

The Hall looks, with lack of better words, absolutely spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all across every wall and at least twelve gigantic Christmas trees stood here, there, and everywhere. They’re decorated with enchanted icicles, baubles, tinsel, and candy-canes.

“How many days you got left until yer holiday?” Hagrid asks.

“Just one,” Hermione replies happily. “And that remind me – Harry, Ron, N/N, we’ve got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right,” says Ron, who’s watching Professor Flitwick decorate one of the trees with a string of golden baubles.

“Great! I’ve been looking for a chance to get to the library all week, but we’ve been doing study in the Common Room and I haven’t had the chance,” I smile happily upon thinking about being in the presence of so many books. Harry looks to me with a smile while shaking his head.

“The library?” Hagrid asks, the slightest bit confused. “Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren’t yeh?”

“Oh, we’re not working,” Harry sheds light as we all walk from the Great Hall. “Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we’ve been trying to find out who he is.”

I smile and nod in confirmation, though I just know I’ll end up wrapped up within something else entirely once I’m looking through the books.

“You _what_ _?_ ” Hagrid asks exasperatedly shocked. “Listen here – I’ve told yeh – drop it. It’s nothin’ to you what that dog’s guarding.”

"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is,” Hermione defends our curiosity, though not completely truthfully. I’m quick to back up her reasons though.

“It’s not like we mean harm. We’re just curious. Harry said he’s heard the name before and now we’re just wondering where is all.”

“Unless you’d like to tell us and save us the trouble?” Harry adds. “We must’ve been through hundreds of books already and we can’t find him anywhere- just give us a hint – I know I’ve read him name somewhere.”

“I’m sayin’ nothin’” Hagrid ends flatly.

“Just have to find it ourselves, then” Ron sighs. “Not that Y/N will be any help. Gets distracted by anything, you do.”

“In my defense, I haven’t got all those books at home. It’s interesting stuff, you know? I’d know next to nothing about Jiggleshroom Moths, nor the Venom-Spitting Vampire Caterpillar if not for those books.”

We’ve been looking for information on the Mister Nicolas Flamel since Hagrid accidentally revealed his name and having something to do with everything not all that long ago. It’s true, I do get easily distracted, but I’ve still probably spent more time than Ron looking him up. I honestly don’t know why he’s so worried about my wondering when he’s barely read a thing! I tell him that as well – a lot.

This library must be filled with thousands of shelves, hundreds of lanes, and tens of thousands of books on all different matters. How can you blame me for getting side tracked.

We’ve looked through a great many as well, including: _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, Notable Magical Names of Our Time, Important Modern Magical Discoveries,_ and _A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry,_ but we’ve found nothing so far. Though I did pick up a rather interesting book called _Madam Gilliweedles Magical Fungi and Crawling Cave Critters,_ which was particularly interesting and could prove good for our Potions classes, as well as another book on the progression of Owl Mail.

Today, Hermione has her list of subjects that he may be related to sat before us, and has us each collecting books from her decided sections to quickly skim through in hopes of uprooting _something_ on the mysterious man who is Nicolas Flamel. Despite Hermione’s methodical ways, though, Ron is slowly strolling through random isles picking up random books categorised by random subjects, and I think Harry’s wondered off into the Restricted Section.

It’s after a few minutes of skimming through _Magical Marvels and the Wizards Behind Them_ that I notice Harry leaving the library, closely tailed by Madam Pince, the librarian, a woman who I’ve come to know quite well over the months.

“Oi, Mione,” I mutter to the girl stuck to her book. She looks up. “Harry’s been kicked out. I think we should go as well. He’ll get himself into more trouble otherwise. You know what he’s like.”

Hermione nods and begins taking her books back around to return them to their proper shelves, and upon Ron _finally_ returning to the table with his own stack of books, I tell him of our plans, and with a groan he’s off to put them all back again.

“Madam Pince?” I ask as I wander to her place. “Do you mind if I get these two today?”

“Of course, dear. Good choices! Are you growing a fascination towards Herbology?”

The books I’m getting today, are _Herbolic Remedies for Commodities_ and _1000 Uses for Things Grown In Greenhouses._

“Well, I’ve been looking through other things as well, but I think these might really help with furthering my grade in Potions, you see. What’s a potion without it's ingredients after all. I think learning about the ingredients will further my understanding on the potions and how they work.” I smile to the lady happily.

“Very cleaver girl, you are. You and Miss Granger both, Miss Amethyst. I sometimes wonder if they should have placed the both of you in Ravenclaw, but then I hear about how much trouble you seem to find yourself in with protecting those friends of yours and I understand,” she chuckles while stamping the books and handing them over. “Have a lovely holiday, dearie.”

“You as well, Madam Pince.”

It’s no more than five minutes after Harry’s been kicked from the library that we’re all joining him outside of it giving him the shake of our heads telling him that, no, we haven’t found anything else, and that, yes, we should be off to lunch now.

“You will keep looking while I’m away, won’t you? Boys, I’m taking to you,” Hermione asks once we’ve reunited and are sat at lunch. “And you’ll send me an owl if you find anything.”

“And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is,” Ron suggests. "It’d be safe to ask them.”

“Very safe,” Mione confirms. “As they’re both dentists,” I finish with a smile.

Once the holidays actually rolled around, I spent many hours sitting in the library and the Common Room reading up on both Flamel and other interesting things I found in the library, such as things about more advanced charms and disarming spells, which are sure to come in handy one day, especially with the trouble we’ve already found ourselves in this year. Harry and Ron, however, have been far too preoccupied for research, and have been goofing off in the Great Hall and Common Room, which we’ve practically got to ourselves.

Ron decided one afternoon he’d try his hand at teaching Harry and I wizard chess, which ended up quite well on my part. I, funnily enough, had already learnt a great deal, as Mabel and I had played quite a lot during her visits, and she was always rather good.

Christmas day finally rolls around, and I awake to a few presents seated at the foot of my bed. My bed is the only one occupied within the girls dorms, and so I decide instead of opening them here, I’ll make my way to the Common Room and open them by the fire. So I take the packages up in my arms and, in my flowy, maroon dressing gown, head towards the couches and the warm fire.

“Good morning, boys,” I greet Harry and Ron as I enter, the two of them having presents of their own to unwrap. “Happy Christmas.” I’m quite surprised they’re down here actually. I’m sure they could have opened them in their dorms, but I’m appreciative none the less that they decided to spend the morning with me instead of just each other.

“Happy Christmas,” Harry replies.

“Yeah, Happy Christmas, Y/N!” Ron beams with a cake already lodged in him mouth. Where on earth did he conjure that up from?

I open my first one, which happens to be from Hagrid. I strip the gift of the rough, brown paper to find a small, whittled statue of Newton! I must remember to thank Hagrid and take him down something, as well as some cookies for Newton, as I’ve found he’s come to like them very much. Perhaps I’ll take some for Hagrid himself, as well.

“ _Weird!_ ” Ron’s voice carries. “What a shape! This is _money?_ ”

I look over to see that Harry’s holding a crumpled piece of paper with a fifty pence piece taped to the front. How… thoughtful.

“You can keep it” replies Harry, laughing at Ron’s intrigue.

I look to my next gift to find it wrapped in my favourite colour of green, and I know immediately who it’s from. Connie has wrapped my gifts in this colour wince I was very young and took and interest in it. I’ll need to owl her for Christmas and ask if she got my gift. It wasn’t much, just a pretty ring that Newton must have stolen from somewhere, though I’ve no idea where, and it’s just her colour, so I couldn’t help myself.

I unwrap the gift and gasp in shock.

“What is it?” Ron asks from his place.

“It’s a violin! Oh she must have found this in France! She’s such a sweet woman!” I beam at the gift and lift the body and bow from the wrapping. “I haven’t played one in so very long.”

“You can play that?” Harry asks, looking over the instrument.

“My uncle, of not my uncle but my caretaker’s, daughter’s husband taught me when they came to visit, and I seemed to just pick it up fast, I suppose. I haven’t played in _ages!_ Would you like to hear something when we’re done?”

“Yes please!” Both Ron and Harry spout at once. I laugh and nod.

I receive a book from Hermione, one I actually haven’t read. It’s a muggle story called _Alice in Wonderland_. I can’t wait to give it a read. In fact, I think I’ll do so later tonight.

“What’s this? You’ve both got one as well,” I mutter as I take the soft present from the small pile. Harry notices and takes his similar one up as well.

“Oh… I think I know who that one’s from,” Ron answers sheepishly, though also partially exasperated. “My mum. I told her you didn’t expect any presents, Harry, and I know George and Fred speak about you in there letters, Y/N, I mentioned you once as well and – oh, no,” he groans. “She’s made you Weasley jumpers.”

I tilt my head to the side and take the wrapping from the gift.

Inside sits a pretty jumper, the colour Sacramento green, information I entrusted with only a few people, those people being Hermione, Harry, Ron, and, suspiciously enough, the twins. It’s beautiful though, and I can’t be more thankful.

“This is beautiful,” I murmur as I trace the sapphire (first initial) with my index finger.

“You what? They’re horrid’s what they are!” Ron pipes. Harry looks marvellously content with his as well. His, quite similar to mine though shades lighter, is an Emerald green, much, I think, like his eyes, “Every year she makes us a jumper, and mine’s _always_ maroon.”

“I think it’s a lovely gesture. My mum used to like to do things like that. She’d usually paint tea-cups though, as well as bookmarks. I love this… I’ll have to owl you mum as soon as I can.”

Harry smiles again, and Ron seems to as well. They’re both lovely when on the topic of family, and I appreciate the way they refuse to pry, even though I know they hear the rumours and whispers around the castle. I suppose Harry is in the same boat, and Ron’s just as sick of family assumptions as I.

“I am sorry I couldn’t get you anything… I didn’t have anything you’d like, and Connie’s much too far away to send too much,” I apologies to the boys.

“That’s fine, as long as you’ll hang out with us for the day, we’ll call it even,” harry suggests, and Ron nods. I smile and nod along with them.

I received an assortment of chocolates from Mabel and her family as well, and peculiarly enough, another small package without a name on it. I think it strange that I’d be receiving a gift from someone I don’t know, especially seeing as I’ve already received one from everyone. I take the package up and peal back the dark-coloured paper. Inside is a pretty pendant on a chain. The gem inside is a glittering gold and crimson, just like our house colours, and the chain is just as glinting and gold.

“Wow,” Ron says. “Who sent you that?”

I’m about to reply before I look over to see he’s gazing at Harry, who’s holding a silvery-grey piece of silky, slithery cloth, and from the look on Ron’s face, he knows exactly what it is as well.

“I’ve heard of those,” he then says after. “If that’s what I think it is – they’re really rare, and really valuable.”

“I think it’s exactly what you think it is, Ron,” I smile is awe at the cloak, whilst fastening my new pendant around my neck. It’s just long enough that it rests just below my collar bone.

“What is it?” Harry asks, perplexed.

“That’s an invisibility cloak,” Ron awes. “I’m sure it is – try it on.”

Both Ron and I watch in wonder as Harry apprehensively throws the cloak over his shoulders and fastens it with his hands around his neck. I gasp and smile happily to Harry as I watch the entirety of his body disappear underneath the invisibility cloak. He looks down and gasps as well.

“There’s a note,” Ron says suddenly taking up the piece of parchment and handing it to Harry. “A note fell out of it.”

The handwriting is long, narrow, and looping, and Harry reads it aloud for us.

“Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you.”

“This was your father’s, Harry? Mum never told me about any of that, this is amazing.”

After finishing my sentence I’m suddenly swept up in her memory, and just as suddenly I’m recalling that this will be my first real Christmas without her, and even Connie.

“What’s the matter?” I hear Ron finish his sentence, though it isn’t directed at me. Harry has a solemn look on his face as well, and I suppose it’s due to hearing about his father and bringing him to mind as well.

“Would you like to hear something? I think I remember a Christmas tune on the violin,” I try and reroute the conversation to redirect both Harry’s thoughts and my own. Though that is sure not to work in my case, as the only Christmas song I know was mum’s favourite, as usual.

I take up the instrument and the bow, and begin to hum the tune before I begin playing.

[Silent Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QmvwWxzg3lc) was always my mum’s favourite Christmas song, and so it was the first one I had my kind-of uncle teach me. I continue my humming as I dance the bow across the neck and strings. This rendition is almost haunting when coupled with the lulling of the voice as well, and the slow, darker notes, so deep and yet so light and beautiful.

I, too, love this song.

I can feel tears welling in my eyes as I play, but I push through them and continue on with the song, and that’s how we all remain. Harry and Ron watching me play in a trance, and I myself am in a trance all my own, silent tears of bittersweet like lemon-sugar flowing from my eyes every so often until I play out the final notes and the Common Room fills with silence once again. That is, until both Fred and George start clapping and whistling loudly, causing me to laugh.

“We didn’t know you could play like that, Weasley Junior,” Fred states as he comes forward and punches me lightly in the shoulder. I laugh again before turning to the boys.

“Do you have nothing better to do than creep about the castle, boys?”

“Of course we do,” says George.

“But then you interrupted us,” says Fred.

“We’re glad you did,” says George again.

“Mum’ll love that,” again, Fred says.

I laugh and look down to the jumper knitted for me by Molly Weasley and I smile while wondering if I’ll ever find the chance to play it for her. It’s strange enough this year not playing it for mum, or even Connie.

“Merry Christmas!” they both shout suddenly making me jump a little and laugh again. They never fail to cheer me up. “Hey, look – Harry’s got a Weasley jumper, too!”

Fred and George’s jumpers are both blue with yellow lettering. One with an F, and the other with a G.

“Harry’s and Y/N’s are better than ours, though,” says Fred, holding up Harry’s jumper and inspecting the colour and knit. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you’re not family.”

“And I suppose you asked her to make me one?” I question the boys. Both beam and wink.

“We just told her about how much you’ve been helping us out, and how you’re friends with little Ronnikins as well. She made that decision on her own,” Fred smiles, and George nods before turning to address the aforementioned Ron. “Why aren’t you wearing yours, Ron? Come on, get it on, they’re lovely and warm.”

“I hate maroon,” Ron complains halfheartedly before apprehensively pulling it on.

“You haven’t got a letter on yours,” George observes. “I suppose she thinks you don’t forget your name. But we’re not stupid – we know we’re called Gred and Forge.”

“And I suppose she’s lumped me in with the two of you then, has she?” I roll my eyes halfheartedly. “Shame that.”

Both the boys gasp in feigned shock before laughing along with me.

“What’s all this noise?” Percy Weasley’s voice suddenly disrupts our jovial mood.

“P for Prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we’re wearing ours, even Y/N and Harry got one.” says Fred.

“I – don’t – want-” Percy tries to protest as the boys force him into his jumper, knocking his glasses around.

“And you’re not sitting with the Prefects today, either,” states George. “Christmas is a time for family.”

The boys then march Percy out of the room, him still stuck mid-protest with his arms pinned at his sides by his forced-on jumper. I laugh as they leave, smiling, forgetting all about crying.


	12. ~11 - Mirror, Mirror~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas night turns from a study night in the Restricted Section to gazing upon the Mirror of Erised. What does young Miss Y/N Evangeline Amethyst see within the Mirror?

_Dear Mr and Mrs Weasley,_

_My name is Y/N Amethyst, and I’m writing to you to thank you so very much for the gift you made for me, it made my Christmas absolutely wonderful, especially seeing as this one was my first without my own mother, and as my guardian wasn’t able to make it for Christmas this year, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for making me feel as though, no matter what’s happened, I was still a part of a family._

_I know Harry is just as pleased with his gift as I am mine, and he appreciates it just as deeply._

_Thank you again, and I hope your Christmas in Romania has been wonderful._

_Best wishes and kindest regards,_

_Y/N Evangeline Amethyst._

This after noon just after dinner, I’m still sat in the Great Hall with Thestral sitting at my side peeling the meat from a turkey leg while I write two letters to both the Weasleys, who’ve made me feel welcome without even knowing me, and Connie and her family.

_Dear Gran Evans,_

_How is Mabel and the rest of her family? I just wanted to wish you all a very Happy Christmas, and tell you that I absolutely love the gift you sent me. I’m surprised you remembered I played the violin as it’s been so long, and since outgrowing my first one, I cannot thank you enough for the one you’ve gifted me._

_Please tell Mabel, Markus, and their daughter that I hope they are well, and that I hope their Christmases have been as wonderful as my own. I can’t wait to see you again over the summer, and I’m missing you dearly._

_Love and best wishes,_

_Little love ~ Y/N_

_PS. I had the chance to play Silent Night for my friends this morning, and it made me think of you and mum._

~~~(...Ӂ...)~~~

Right now I’m sitting in the Common Room by myself. All the Weasleys, and Harry, went off to bed a little while ago, but no matter how tired I’m truly feeling, I can’t seem to want to go to sleep, so instead, I’m sat here by the fire and thinking, staring towards the mysterious gift without a name I received this morning.

Sat in front of me is a cup of tea one of the house elves graciously made me, and a couple of cookies sitting atop a partially-crumpled napkin. ‘Tea is to be enjoyed with cookies, Miss,’ the elf had told me, and I beamed to her.

I’m broken from my trance on my pendant as I hear something begin knocked into from near the entrance, and upon not finding anyone when I turn my head, I find there to be only one explanation.

“Where are you going, Harry?”

The invisibility cloak suddenly swoops form the boy to reveal him in a state of utter perplexity.

“How’d you know?”

“I don’t see anyone else in the castle with a cloak like yours. Where are you going?”

He hesitates for a moment before moving closer and sitting next to me, his gifted cloak on his lap, clutched in his hands.

“I’m going to the library – the Restricted Section – to try and find Nicolas Flamel,” he explains softly, almost nervously as if I’m going to scold him for wanting to do so.

“Oh, so _now_ you want to do your research,” I sigh as I place my book down, tuck my pendant away, and stand. “Alright – I’m ready, so lets go now before someone else comes down looking for you.”

“What? You can’t come, Y/N,” he whispers loudly.

“Why on earth not?”

“Because if we’re caught, you’ll get in trouble!”

“Yes, Harry, I gathered that, actually, but as far as I’ve calculated thus far this year, I’m much more trouble-prone than yourself, and so should it not be I warning you about such?” I counter placing most balled fists against my hips.

“You don’t get in _that_ much trouble,” he sighs shaking his head.

“Actually…” I trail off thinking about getting caught that one time with the twins, and all of the detentions I’ve collected through sticking up for myself around Snape. “Never mind. I’m coming with you, or neither of us are going… Unless – I suppose you… Oh, I’m sorry. You must want to go alone or you would have woken Ron, right? You wanted to try it out for the first time by yourself?”

“Actually – you got that pretty spot on…”

“Look, I don’t feel good about letting you go alone… I’m still going to come with you, though I’ll come under a charm.”

“A charm?”

“Yes, the disillusionment charm, I learnt it from a visiting friend of the family from the Amazon.”

“You – the Amazon – that – I’ve never even _heard_ of that charm. What’s it do?”

“Well, it doesn’t make me invisible, but as close to it as I can get. You’re familiar with chameleons, yes? It’s a lot like that. I’ll simply be blending in with the background. Watch.”

I move towards the fireplace and stand before it, before casting the charm over myself and watching as Harry’s eyes go wide. He’s obviously trying to see my form through the illusion I’ve cast, as his eyes are flickering here, there, and everywhere in confusion and humour, as well as the slightest bit of awe.

“Are you sure you aren’t invisible,” he says after a few more moments.

Unbeknown to Harry, I’ve crept around him since casting, and am now stood behind him.

“Quite,” I whisper in his ear, and the poor boy jumps a foot.

“Y/N!” he gasps in shock, and I have to cover my mouth to stop my laughing.

I cast a counter to relieve the charm, and Harry can finally see me again.

“Okay,” he gives in with a chuckle. “Let’s go then.”

I recast, and Harry slips beneath the silken cloak, and together we move through the portrait and out into the castle, the late night dimming the corridors just as it had all those months ago when we’d left then, too, with the promise of a duel from Draco Malfoy, though tonight is not for petty fights, it’s for research on someone who’s going to prove quite important, I’m sure.

It doesn’t take us long to reach the library, even though we’d both have to stop every now and again to recall where the other’s walking, as we’ve been here much longer now since the last time we wandered during the night. Not to mention my trips to the library are a daily occurrence, and as I frequent the room a lot, I even managed to take us through a few swift shortcuts on our way here.

This, obviously, is my first time in the Restricted Section, and so of course, my imagination wanders when glancing over the different spines written in different languages, or even with nothing written upon them at all. It’s all fascinating, wondering what’s written within them.

Harry and I walk through the rows looking over the differentiating spines and their respective colours and languages, some of them even appearing to whisper as if they understand that there are people within the section whom shouldn’t be. Harry seems to decide on one book in particular, and places his lamp down on the floor by our feet to look at it.

This book, from face value, looks nothing special in comparison to the rest of the books, all of which looking similar, but it’s within the pages that we find the difference to be found. As soon as Harry opens the book, a bloody-curdling shriek erupts from the pages where a face is seemingly protruding the paper. Harry and I both jump a foot, the former of us stumbling backwards and kicking over the lamp, causing it to break and for the hall to fall dark once again. Harry slammed to volume shut, but the screaming continued and after shoving it back on the shelf, we hear footsteps marching upon us.

“Harry, cloak!” I whisper-shout at the boy with wide eyes behind circular spectacles.

He re-robes, and I ensure my charm is still working, and then we both make a break for it, wanting to get out of here as soon as possible. There’s only one person who would be roaming the corridors this time of night, not including ourselves, and that person is Filch. And I’ll be damned if I want him catching us up after hours, let alone within the library's Restricted Section.

We both come to a sudden halt at a tall suit of armour, or more, I think we both do, as whilst running, we hadn’t paid attention to where we were going, and now, in the dark, the place we’ve wound up in seems foreign.

“Harry, do you-”

“Shh!” Harry quietly shushes me, and I shut up instantly, a voice protruding the silence and sending shivers down my spine.

Of course as well as Filch and his rutty Mrs Norris, Snape would be roaming the corridors as well. By the sounds of it, someone is with him, and so we stop to listen, creeping closer, within our disguises, to get a better idea as to what’s unfolding.

“You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wondering around at night, and somebody’s been in the library – Restricted Section,” Filch happily recalls to the dreaded, greasy-headed, long-nosed, mauled-legged man.

“The Restricted Section? Well, they can’t be far, we’ll catch them,” Snape replies in his usual, low, drawled, oily voice.

I take a hold of Harry’s sleeve, where he’s slightly poking from the cloak, and pull him gently backwards until we’re passing through a door that was left ajar, and once we’re through, I quickly dis-charm myself and close and lock it behind us.

“Great, now Filch _and_ Snape are on our case,” I complain quietly as Harry takes off the cloak once again. “With any luck we won’t face the death penalty for being caught.”

I expect a reply from Harry, but once I receive none, I turn to find him facing what appears to be an unused classroom, the silhouettes of upturned chairs and long-forgotten desks lingering within the inky, greying darkness, and a large mirror, which looks very out of place among the rest of everything else.

I soon find myself being drawn to the spectacle, my eyes following the detailed, ornate frame of golden-swooping, it’s two, gold, claw feet, and the rest of it, of which reaches all the way to the ceiling, being a crystal-clean, glass mirror.

“Wow…” I breathe upon stepping closer to it. “Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.”

“Do you know what it means?” Harry’s voice finally sounds as he, too, is stepping closer.

“Unfortunately, no… I don’t recognise the dialect.”

Harry’s eyes widen as he finally comes to rest in front of it, his gaze fixed to the mirror, and yet bouncing around it’s surface as if he’s seeing something else alongside him that isn’t really there. I furrow my brow as I watch him creep even closer.

“Harry?” I wonder allowed, though I don’t catch his attention. It’s all glue to the mirror in front of him, and for a moment I let myself worry that it has some sort of terrible effect on the one looking into it and I worry for Harry, until he speaks again.

“Mum?” he whispers. “Dad?”

He moves ever closer and presses his hands up against the glass, and I’m stunned into silence. James and Lilly Potter? He can see his parents in there? How can that be? Is it charmed to show your loved ones no matter where they are?

“I’ll come back,” he suddenly says, breaking me from my thoughts, and I don’t even have enough time to question him before he’s back out the door and taking off.

I should follow him, but my curiosity's piqued, and now I find myself wanting to gaze into the mirror as well. Harry saw his parents, it seems, so will I see mine? Will I see dad? Will I finally be able to put an actual face to cut-short stories and the colours Ash Grey and Sacramento Green? Will mum be stood there as well? 

I take the place in which Harry was standing just moments ago, with my eyes downcast to the floor, and then after finding the courage, I look up to see what I thought I’d never see again.

“Mum…” I breath out, tears jumping to my eyes instantly.

It _is_ my mother, but not as I last remember her. My mother and I parted ways while she was at her worst. The shell of the woman she once was. The scared, paranoid, and jittery lady who spent months stowed away in her room before she… before she passed.

Her eyes are bright now, and shinning their familiar yet far off Lavender-Lilac, and her lips are no longer chapped and scared but plush-pink and smiling happily at me, he hand on my shoulder. It seems so real… I can almost feel her here with me, but I know it isn’t, because… well…

Her skin’s no longer sickly-pale, but full of life and energy and love, all the things she once was before she was taken away, only to come home someone else entirely…

The Cruciatus Curse has been known to turn people mad… but seeing the aftermath first hand? It’s not something you ever want to experience.

I let my eyes wander from my mum to a few of the other people standing there.

There’s Harry, Ron, Hermione, the twins, Connie and her family, and a few other people I’ve come to be friends with, all people, I suddenly realise, I would do just about anything for. They all look extremely happy, and healthy, and as if they’ve never been touched by bad in their entire lives, and just the image, real or not, brings more tears of joy and confusion to my eyes.

There’s one other person stood there, too. One other person stood alongside my mum. A man who’s tall, and dark, with no facial features bar his grey eyes and green scarf. This, I understand, must be my father.

I look into his eyes, and I catch the stare of regret and longing, and for a moment I wish that this wasn’t a figment of my desires, as I’ve come to realise it must be, and actually a depiction of all of their true states.

I wish for my friends to live long, happy, and healthy lives. I wish that for my caretaker as well. I wish for my mother to be back here with me and staring down as the woman she once was and not the woman she was turned into… and I wish my father felt regret and longing for me and leaving us… but this isn’t real. Rationally, it can’t be.

Suddenly, Harry bursts back into the room with a half-asleep Ron hot on his heals, and I understand why he took off so quickly and without explanation.

“It’s here – just here – yes! See? Y/N’s here, too!” Harry’s voice sounds, and I turn from the sight within the mirror.

Harry drops the cloak after they’ve both made it in, and I step aside as he quickly marches back towards the mirror and instructs Ron to follow him. Ron comes and stands by me as we watch the boy marvel at whatever the mirror is now reflecting to him.

“See?” he whispers faintly, not tearing his gaze from the people before him.

“I can’t see anything,” Ron replies, and I smile sadly.

I’m not sure I want to tell him yet… he seems much too happy with seeing them. I just can’t find it within myself to break that happiness with rationalised thoughts, and sour outcomes.

“Look! Look at them all… there are loads of them…” He must be seeing his entire family.

“I can only see you,” Ron points out.

“Look at it properly, go on, stand where I am.”

Harry moves from his place and Ron slowly takes it. His eyes widen upon seeing what’s being reflected to him, and I smile wondering what his desires within the mirror hold.

“Look at me!” he suddenly exclaims.

“Can you see all your family standing around you?”

“No – I’m alone – but I’m different- I look older – and I’m Head Boy! I am – I’m wearing the badge like Bill used to – and I’m holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup- I’m Quidditch captain, too!”

I look from Ron to Harry to see the latter looking downcast and slightly confused.

“Do you think this mirror shows the future?” Ron pipes.

“How can it? All my family are dead – let me have another look-”

“You two have had it to yourselves for ages! Give me a bit more time.”

“You’re only holding the Quidditch Cup, what’s interesting about that? I want to see my parents,” Harry protests, and I’m inclined to take his side.

“Hey! Calm down, will you both? Ron, please-” I begin, until we’re broken by the sound of approaching steps.

I gasp and instantly cast the disillusionment charm as Harry throws his cloak over Ron and himself, and just moments after, Mrs Norris waltzes through the door with an authoritative look about her. I hold my breath and hope the charm is enough to fool the annoying beast.

I love animals - pretty much all of them, in fact. Magical and otherwise. Beasts, creatures, and the cuddly kind - but what I wouldn't give to get away with having her removed from the castle forever.

After a few moments, she seems disinterested and leaves the room, and I let out my breath before following after the boys, hearing Ron say, “Quick, this isn’t safe – she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on”

And so we leave.

~~~(...Ӂ...)~~~

There’s still snow about the morning after next, as well as a brisk wind pummelling the grounds, but I can’t bring myself to want to think about anything other than how my mum looked in that mirror the other night. She was so happy – so herself – and it was almost painful to have to walk away from it knowing that she isn’t within the world outside the mirror.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Harry went back up there last night, but I’m not entirely sure. He looks exhausted today, and completely within his own thoughts. These two things are massive indicators suggesting that going back is exactly what he’d done.

“Want to play chess, Harry?” I hear Ron ask him within the common room where we’re sat. I’m staring out the window with a book in my lap, and Harry’s staring into the flames of the fire. I’m sure we’re both thinking about the same thing.

“No,” he answers shortly.

“Why don’t we go down and visit Hagrid?” he suggests next.

“No… you go…”

“I know what you’re thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don’t go back tonight.”

As soon as the mirror is brought up, I swivel my head toward their conversation paying keener attention. So Harry’s considering going back tonight, then? Perhaps I’ll have to go with him this time. He _must_ have went without me last night.

“Why not?” he retorts.

“I dunno, I’ve got a bad feeling about it – and anyway, you’ve had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs Norris are wandering around. So what if they can’t see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?”

“You sound like Hermione,” Harry replies while glancing in my general direction, most likely to gauge my reaction towards his comment about my best friend. I, however, give a slight chuckle thinking about Ron with Hermione’s hair on his head.

“You’re going back, Harry? Tonight? You’ll take me with you, right?”

“Oh, not you, too,” Ron groans. “It can’t be good for you – either of you – you shouldn’t go.”

“If you’d just – I don’t know – try to understand what is in that mirror, Ron-” I try, but he cuts me off.

“I’m serious. Don’t go.”

I look to Harry and the both of us share a silent promise to accompany each other to the mirror tonight once Ron’s gone to sleep. He’ll probably have to pretend to be asleep to be able to sneak out, though. I won’t have any trouble, as I’m still the only one in my dorm.

~~~(...Ӂ...)~~~

As the night finally rolls around, Harry and I creep towards the room, much easier than the first time I went with him, confirming further his trip alone last night. The halls seem more familiar now, though, as if they’ve been waiting for us to walk them in the dark again.

Once we’re in, I let Harry go first. I understand that he’s probably hurting a lot, maybe even more than I, as he never really got to meet them personally. His sudden voice breaks me from my glancing around the old class.

“Y/N?” he asks gently, his eyes glued to the glass.

“Yes, Harry?”

“What do you see when you look in this mirror?”

I frown gently and walk closer to him, and then I sit cross-legged beside him and gaze upon my own reflection, and his as well, along with everything from my own desires splayed out in front of me.

“I see me and you, and I see Ron and Hermione, and Connie, and even the twins, what I imagine Mrs Weasley to look like, Neville, and even a girl named Luna from Ravenclaw I’ve come to know. I can see my mum, and I can see… Well, I suppose I can see my dad, but not really.”

“What are they doing? Is there anyone else?”

“There are a lot of people I hold close to me, like Connie’s family, and even Thestral and Misses, and other people I’ve made friends with. They aren’t doing anything in particular, they’re just – being happy – happy and safe, I suppose.”

“What do you suppose it means? Being able to see them, I mean?”

“I think I know what it means, but I don’t think it’s what _you_ want it to mean.”

“What?”

“I think it’s our desires, our greatest desires shown to us, you know? I made a guess at it when you suggested about your family, and then I saw mine, and with what Ron said, it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Right you are, Miss Amethyst,” a familiar voice suddenly interrupts from the shadows.

Both Harry and myself whip around to find none other than Professor Dumbledore stood and watching us.

“Back again, are we?” he speaks again while the two of us are still in shock about getting caught.

“I – I didn’t see you, sir,” Harry finally stumbles upon words, but finds words none the less.

“Strange how short-sighted being invisible can make you,” says Dumbledore.

I can feel Harry’s tension melting away by my side as Professor Dumbledore watches us seemingly fondly, with a kind and pleasant smile on his lips, and knowing shining in his gleaming eyes hidden behind half-moon spectacles.

“So,” Dumbledore says again as he moves from his place and joins us on the floor. “You two, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.”

“I didn’t know it was called that, sir,” says Harry.

“But I expect, like young Miss Amethyst here, that you’ve realised by now what it does?”

“It – well – it shows me my family-”

“And it shows Y/N those she strives to protect, and your friend Ron himself as Head Boy.”

“How did you know-”

“I don’t need a cloak to become invisible,” Dumbledore replies with a smile. “Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?”

Harry looks to me, but I don’t repeat myself, as I suspect that Dumbledore intends to explain himself anyway. The old man smiles at me, and I him with knowing, before he looks back to Harry.

“Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror or Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?”

Harry remains quiet for a moment lost in thought, then glances at me as if he’s remembered my words from before.

“It shows us what we want… whatever we want...”

“Yes and no,” Dumbledore continues, quietly. “It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts You, who have never known your family, see them standing all around you. You, Y/N, who’s seen so much and felt even more than any person, let alone a child, ever should, sees those close to you safe and protected _by_ you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entrances by what hey have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

“The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you both not to go looking for it again. If you ever _do_ run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don’t you put that admirable Cloak back on, and you that clever charm of yours, and get off to bed?”

Harry and I stand.

“Sir – Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?” Harry begins again.

“Obviously, you’ve just done so,” he smiles. “You may ask me one more thing, however.”

“What do you see when you look in the Mirror?”

“I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks. Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People always insist on giving me books.”

Harry and I move back to our dorms, and as I enter mine alone, I let myself dwell on the Mirror of Erised for just a moment more before promising to banish it from my mind, no matter how high of a feat that will surely be. Dumbledore is right. It never did anyone good to dwell on dreams.

~~~(...Ӂ...)~~~

_Words~ 4'303_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse my ruddy uploading schedule. I publish these chapters as soon as I've written them. Sometimes I need a break :)


	13. ~12 - I Knew I Read His Name~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N, Hermione, Harry, and Ron all finally figure out who the illusive Nicolas Flamel is.

Harry and I both seem to make a point with not venturing back out to find the Mirror of Erised again, and with good reason. Dumbledore is right, after all, as he always is. It’s sure to do nothing short of drive us mad, which is a short conversation both Harry and I shared on our way back to bed the last night we’d looked within it and spoken to the Headmaster about it. To be stuck still and staring at a life I’m not even sure will happen isn’t how I want to spend my time, and Harry’s sure he’s okay with understanding that though he wont be able to see them anymore, unlike when he’s gazing in the mirror, his family is still with him in spirit, and neither of us need such an enchanted relic to know that. Harry’s family is with him in heart, and if I truly want to keep everyone safe and healthy, then I must act instead of wonder.

For the rest of the Christmas holidays we say nothing about it after the final night and leave it be. Of course, forgetting such a thing will be almost impossible, especially for Harry, I’m sure, but we’re willing to give it our best shot to leave what we’ve seen behind.

Harry’s seemed rather tired lately, as if something’s been waking him in the middle of the night. I’ve been hesitant to ask, as I’m sure it correlates to what was in that Mirror, and so I won’t bring it up. He’s a strong boy, though we’re ever so young, and he’ll push through without a doubt.

It’s on the day Hermione returns from home and questions Harry’s tired look that he fills us in and confirms my suspicions.

“You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad,” Ron says after Harry’s finished telling us about the reoccurring nightmare with the flashing, green, brilliant light, and cackling laughter.

Hermione was furious when she found out we’d both been visiting the mirror, even if we’d both visited barely twice – Harry three times. She was both horrified that we’d been breaking the rules without her knowing, and disappointed that we hadn’t found anything on Nicolas Flamel during all our spare hours.

~~~(...Ӂ...)~~~

Lately, Harry has been awfully busy with Quidditch practice, and I can see the way the sport is both wearing him and brightening him up. He’s both elated with being there, and so very tired, as practices are harder than ever, and his nightmares are still persisting. I asked him just yesterday morning if he’s had any luck with them stopping, but his indirect answer told that he’d had no such luck at all.

With Harry being so busy and tired, with practice, his sleeplessness, and general study seeing as term is well and truly back in swing, it’s been mostly just Ron, Mione, and I continuing on with our search for Nicolas Flamel, though we as a three have each decided we don’t mind Harry not being able to help all that much considering everything else.

Today we’re sat in the Common Room while Harry’s at practice. Mione and Ron are well involved with a game of chess, and I’m sat and reading through Herbology class's reading material for our following week. Harry bursting into the room causes me to cough on the tea I’m sipping, a few droplets decorating the once pristine pages before me.

“Harry!” I bark at the boy after breaking from my fit. “Must you insist on bursting in like that? Merlin, you’ve almost made me ruin my book!”

He’s wearing a sheepish and apologetic smile as he nears us and sits himself down.

“Don’t talk to me for a moment,” Ron requests once Harry is situated and obviously ready to tell us all something. “I need to concen-” It’s when he glances to the messy, dark-brunette-to-black-haired boy that he decides his next move in chess can wait. “What’s the matter with you? You look terrible.”

“Snape’s decided he’s going to be refereeing our next Quidditch game,” Harry mumbles out quietly, and my shoulders tense as I see the defeated look written across his face.

“Don’t play,” Hermione pipes suddenly, and I nod in agreement.

“She’s right, Harry. Snape’s only going to make this hard on you! Plus, who knows what he’s got planned this time? It’s lucky Mione’s smart so as to have avoided you falling from your broom last game,” I add, and Harry glances to me.

“Say you’re ill,” then suggests Ron.

“Pretend to break your leg,” Hermione adds after.

“ _Actually_ break your leg,” I say, causing all three to look at me funny. “It was a joke – It’s called lightening the mood?”

“I can’t,” Harry sighs. “There isn’t a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can’t play at all.”

The look of worry and defeat muddled in his eyes breaks my heart just a little, and for a moment I think back to the image of him I saw in my version of the Mirror of Erised. He was happy and content, and now seeing him like this, after witnessing that, no matter how unreal, hurts.

My concentration on trying to convince myself there’s nothing I can do is broken when suddenly Neville Longbottom hops into the room with both of his legs stuck together as if he’s been tied up. This is the work of the Leg-Locker Curse, something my family friends from Egypt used on each other when they once visited us. How he managed to get all the way here like this is a miracle.

“Neville?” I gasp as I stand, Hermione standing as well, while everyone else around us breaks into laughter. “What’s happened to you? Who did this?”

“Malfoy,” he answers shakily, and I feel my nails biting into my palm as I ball my fist. “I met him outside the library. He said he’s been looking for someone to practice this on.”

Hermione’s quick to perform the counter-curse before she grasps a hold of my arm to hold me from walking out of the room to speak with Malfoy myself.

“Go to Professor McGonagall!” she urges him while her grip’s tight on me. “And Y/N, you aren’t going to find him, so don’t even think about it.”

“But he’s being a _twat!_ ”

“I don’t care! You aren’t getting yourself in trouble because of this again!”

“Because of what again?” Harry suddenly interjects, just before Mione can reveal that I’ve been back and forth arguing with Malfoy in his, and other’s names, Hermione speaks again.

“Report him!”

“I don’t want any trouble,” Neville whispers shakily with a shake of his head.

“Oh, he’ll be getting trouble,” I mutter as I rip Mione’s grasp from me and storm to the door, but I’m stopped again, this time not by Hermione, but by Neville himself.

“Please don’t,” he says, and with a huff and a shake of my head I walk back to my spot and sit down with a scowl on my face.

Oh how Draco Malfoy makes me want to punch that face of his. I’m not usually a violent person, but for Malfoy, I’d make an exception. As well as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I, he’s been giving Neville a particularly hard time, and it’s entirely unfair.

“You’ve got to stand up to him, Neville!” Ron tells from his place. “He’s used to walking all over people, but that’s no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier.” I nod in agreement.

“There’s no need to tell me I’m not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy’s already done that,” he chokes out as if he’s on the brink of tears. I suspect he is as well.

I see Harry move this time, his hand digging around in the pockets of his robes before he finds something and drags it out, handing the object to Neville, and I smile when I realise it’s a Chocolate Frog. One of the one’s Mione gifted him for Christmas.

“You’re worth twelve of Malfoy,” he says, and I nod again, smiling this time. “The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn’t it? And where’s Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin.”

Neville smiles slightly before opening the chocolate and making a move to leave.

“I still don’t know why you all won't let me take him,” I mutter, though no one seems to hear.

“Thanks, Harry… I think I’ll go to bed… D’you want the card, you collect them, don’t you?”

Neville leaves now, leaving us all in the dim Common Room, Harry with the card in his hand. He’s looking it over, but he has a look of dissatisfaction on his face, and I reckon he’s probably already got the one Neville’s given him.

“Dumbledore again,” he says. “He was the first one I ever-” he cuts himself off with a gasp, and I jump to attention, as do our other friends. “ _I’ve found him!_ ” he whispers forcefully. “I’ve found Flamel! I _told_ you I’d read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here – listen to this: ‘Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, _and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel!_ ”

Hermione's the first to jump to her feet, and as soon as she’s up, after declaring a brisk ‘stay there!’ she’s rocketing towards our dorm most likely to get whatever’s just come to her clever mind. Not a few moments later is she back carrying a large book I’ve seen her carrying once before now.

“I never thought to look in here!” she whispers excitedly. “I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading.”

“ _Light?_ ” Ron’s quick to question.

Hermione shushes him, and nor Harry or I pay his comment any mind as she’s quickly flicking through the pages and we’re sat watching her eagerly.

“I knew it! I _knew_ it!”

“Are we allowed to speak yet?” Ron grumbles with his arms crossed and a roll of his eyes.

"Nicholas Flamel,” she recites dramatically, “is the _only known maker of the Philosopher’s Stone!_ ”

“The what?” Harry questions perplexed. Ron looks just as confused.

“Oh, my Merlin!” I exclaim as well. “Why couldn’t I remember that!”

“Oh, _honestly_ , don’t you two read? Look – read that, there.”

Both boys look rather annoyed with having to read something, and so whilst chuckling, I take up the book and begin reciting the passage Hermione’s referring.

“The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher’s Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.

“There have been many reports of the Philosopher’s Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and art-lover. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle, who’s six hundred and fifty-eight.”

“See?” Hermione pipes after I’m done. “The dog must be guarding Flamel’s Philosopher’s Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they’re friends and he knew someone was after it. That’s why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts.!”

“A stone that makes gold and stops you ever dying! No wonder Snape’s after it! _Anyone_ would want it,” says Harry.

“And no wonder we couldn’t find Flamel is that _Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry,_ ” adds Ron. “He’s not exactly recent if he’s six hundred and sixty-five, is he?”

~~~(...Ӂ...)~~~

Snape seems to be lurking around every corner as of late, and according to Harry, he’s been seeing him even more than I. I suppose that’s because he’s growing more and more anxious about his coming Quidditch match the nearer it drew, and for good reason. He says that it’s been years since they’ve overtaken Slytherin in the House Championships, and the points from this game are sure to add plenty to our tally, but having such a biased referee is going to prove dreadful, I’m sure.

“Potter,” Snape begins to drawl greasily through out Potions class. “Tell me, what does one do thirdly while brewing the _Draught of Living Death_?”

“I don’t know, Professor,” harry answers.

“Pity you don’t pay attention. You’ve just lost Gryffindor a point, Potter.”

“We don’t go over Draught of Living Death for years yet, and you know it. What, are you afraid that without taking point off of Harry your precious Slytherins will lose this year? It’s sounding as if you’re scared, Professor,” I call out causing some of the Gryffindors to chuckle and ‘ooh’, and for the Slytherins to scoff and retort.

“Detention, Miss Amethyst.”

“Pleasure.”

He’s been making Harry’s life even harder through these classes… I suppose that yes, I do understand that my retaliation will have no effect on this, but I can’t quite find it in myself to sit still when he’s being so blatantly evil.

~~~(...Ӂ...)~~~

There’s a nervous energy lulling through the air between us four as we wish Harry luck outside the changing rooms and he gives his thanks. There’s a nervousness that something terrible might go wrong. After all, if Snape’s so intent on getting this stone, and if he is starting to suspect that Harry knows, which he’s expressed he feels as though Snape does, what’s to say he won’t get Harry extremely hurt over it? This is immeasurable wealth and immortality we’re talking about after all. What’s a single life to someone who could ever want something like that so badly?

“You think he’ll be alright?” I ask both Ron and Mione as we make our way to the stands to watch them play. “You don’t think Snape will get him killed, right? I mean, he wont – he couldn’t – one of you please tell me he wouldn’t.” 

“ _Calm down,_ Y/N,” Hermione says as we find our seats. “You got like this last time, and he was fine then, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, but Snape wasn’t refereeing the game then,” states Ron. Hermione turns an angry eye on him before looking back to me.

“He’ll be fine. You worry too much.”

“I know…” I sight as I look around the place. Someone then catches my eye that brings a bout of hope to my heart. “Hey! Look over there! Dumbledore’s come to watch! Snape can’t possible do anything with him here!”

“Well that’s a load off,” Ron breathes, letting out a long breath, and Hermione simply rolls her eyes, though I can she’s equally as relieved.

“I’ve never seen Snape look so mean,” Ron mutters to the two of us as we watch him keenly. “Look – they’re off. Ouch!”

Someone’s poked Ron in the back of the head.

“Oh, Sorry, Weasley, didn’t see you there,” Malfoy sneers, Crabbe and Goyle standing guard at his sides as they always are. “Wonder how long Potter’s going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?”

Ron doesn’t answer him. I’m not as withheld as I once thought myself to be, though.

“Amethyst?” he asks me next, and I turn to make furious eye-contact with him.

“You jealous, Draco Malfoy? If I remember correctly, you’re family has enough money to _buy_ you a place on the Slytherin team, so why not go begging daddy about it instead of getting on our nerves while we’re trying to watch, hey? You scared you aren’t as good as Harry? Well you should be!”

“Honestly,” Hermione adds from my side, looking at me. “What has gotten into you lately?”

Neville, who’s standing with the three of us, looks nervous at the brewing conflict.

I look away from Malfoy’s furious gaze to catch Snape awarding Hufflepuff a penalty because of George, who’s just before hit a Bludger at him. I shake my head, but smile nonetheless.

“Jealous?” Malfoy suddenly pipes again, “of Potter? Do you know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?” Snape awards Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason whatsoever. “It’s people they feel sorry for. See, there’s Potter, who’s got no parents, then there’s the Weasleys, who’ve got no money – you should be on the team, Longbottom, you’ve got no brains. And you, mummies girl – or not anymore, right? Perhaps they’ll award you a spot for being an orphan as well.”

Neville is the one to stand and retort before even I this time, with fire in his eyes that doesn’t quite reach his voice, but he’s standing up for both himself and our fiends, so I’m so very proud of him.

“Each of us is worth twelve of you, Malfoy,” he stammers over his words, but he doesn’t falter. His words don’t seem to have the hoped for effect though, as Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle are all laughing hysterically.

“You tell him, Neville,” Ron cheers him on whilst not removing his eyes from the game.

“Longbottom, if brains were gold you’d be poorer than Weasley, and that’s saying something.”

Ron jumps around this time.

“I’m warning you, Malfoy – one more word-” he begins, but is swiftly cut off be Hermione, who’s voice also collects my attention back up as well.

“Ron! Harry-”

“What? Where?”

I look to find that Harry’s falling into a truly spectacular dive of sorts, and though for a second I’m terrified that someone is once again jinxing his broom, the look on his face suggests that he’s actually seen what he’s been looking for all game, and he’s chasing it down.

“Come on, Harry!” I scream across the other roars of onlookers.

“You’re in luck, Weasley, Potter’s obviously spotted some money on the ground!” Malfoy cackles. This is when Ron truly snaps.

He turns around bullet-quick and socks Malfoy right in the face, to which I’m immediately jealous of, and has him tackled to the ground as if they’re wrestling. It’s actually almost comical. I see Neville hesitate for a moment before stumbling over the seats to help. I’m about to move myself before, once again, Mione’s hand is clamped on my robe sleeves holding me in place with that stare of hers that says ‘don’t you dare’. She turns back to the game, and hesitantly, so do I, trusting that the boys will be fine.

“Come on, Harry!” Mione mimics my earlier call, and I shout and clap loudly.

Up in the air, Harry pulls out of his dive, and he’s got the Golden Snitch held in his hand. I jump up and down and cheer loudly for him, and the team of course, but mostly for Harry. Mione grasps my shoulders and we both call out happily.

“Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game’s over! Harry’s won! We’ve won! Gryffindor are in the lead!” she shrieks in excitement and looks around for our red-headed friend.

Harry jumps from his broom before he’s even reached the ground, and he has an absolutely astonished and proud look plastered to his face, as well as excitement and relief in his eyes. Snape couldn’t even deter our win – his win – and I can see how glad of that Harry is. Dumbledore is standing with him now, speaking to him kindly with a smile. I watch as Snape spits bitterly on the grass. What a sore loser.

A bunch of the Gryffindors, both on and not on the Quidditch team pull Harry up and plant him upon their shoulders crying out cheerfully, and patting each other on the backs. I run alongside Mione and Ron, the latter’s nose bleeding from his scruff up with Malfoy, and we congratulate him on his win.

“You did amazing, Harry!” I call up to him from down below. “That has to have been a record! Fastest Snitch catch of all time!”

I turn to Ron after they’ve all left for the changing rooms and with a laugh and smile, I fix his nose for him.

“ _Episkey_ ,” I chant, and with a slight wine, Ron’s nose goes back to it’s normal state. We all walk back to the Common Room now, awaiting Harry’s return to congratulate him properly.

~~~(...Ӂ...)~~~

“Harry, where have you _been?”_ Hermione asks him as he finally wanders back towards the Common Room to find us well over two hours later.

“We won! You won! We won!” Ron shouts with glee burying Mione’s question with his chanting. A question I wouldn't mind an answer to either. “And I gave Malfoy a black eye and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! He’s still out cold but Madam Pomfrey says he’ll be all right – talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone’s waiting for you in the Common Room, we’re having a party, Fred, George, and Y/N stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens.”

“I’m still upset that you were allowed to sock him and I wasn’t,” I grumble after he’s done. “What I wouldn’t give to do that again.”

“Again?” Hermione suddenly asks.

“Never mind that now,” Harry suddenly speaks. “Let’s find an empty room, you wait ‘til you hear this.”

Harry leads Hermione, Ron and I to an empty classroom as suggested and begins telling us about what he’s just come to witness. Whatever it is, it’s surely got him on edge to say the least. I haven’t seen him this worried since he was told Snape would be refereeing their Quidditch match. I wonder if he’s just found out Snape will be doing that from now on?

“I was leaving the changing rooms and was on my way back here when I saw him leaving the castle all dressed up in his cloak and headed towards the Forbidden Forest, so I got on my broom and I followed him-”

“Wait,” Mione interjects. “You went into the Forbidden Forest?”

“I’m sure he’ll get to that, Mione, hush,” I say waiting for Harry to continue.

“Thanks, Y/N, so anyway, I followed him on my broom keeping out of sight, when suddenly I saw Professor Quirrell out there as well!”

“Professor Quirrell?” Ron pipes. “He hardly seems brave enough to be taking a walk through there, doesn't he?”

“Snape had asked him to meet him there,” Harry reveals. “Said he wanted to keep it private or something. Then he said students aren’t supposed to know about the Philosopher’s Stone. He asked him ‘Have you found out how to get past Hagrid’s beast yet’ I think he’s forcing Quirrell into helping him! He was saying something about Quirrell’s ‘hocus-pocus’ and where his loyalties lie, but I didn’t get all of that.”

“Are you sure?” Mione asks.

“Yes, and then they were done, so I came back here to tell you!”

“Oh, my Godric… So Snape’s got Quirrell working with him now…” I mutter before we all share worried looks.

“So we were right, it _is_ the philosopher’s Stone, and Snape’s trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy – and he said something about Quirrell’s ‘hocus-pocus’ - I reckon there are other things guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell which Snape needs to break through-” Harry partially concludes.

“So you mean the Stone’s only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?” brings up Hermione.

“It’ll be gone by next Tuesday,” sighs Ron.

~~~(...Ӂ...)~~~

_Words~ 3,821_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the quality of this chapter. No, I'm not completely happy with it, but I hope ity doesn't deter you from the rest. Love you. Hope you're well.
> 
> Sinclair~


	14. ~13 - Bloody Norbert~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hagrid's found himself a new friend, and now Y/N, Harry, Hermione, and Ron have to find a way to get said friend off of the castle's grounds without getting themselves caught doing so.

Weeks have followed since Harry heard the discussion between Quirrell and Snape in the Forbidden Forest, and still nothing has happened. Apart from Quirrell getting progressively thinner, paler, and jumpier, it seems he’s managed to hold his own against Snape so far, which gives me hope that he’ll be able to hold out long enough for Dumbledore to figure out what Snape’s up to. Every time we pass through the third-floor corridor, we'll always put an ear to the door to make sure that Fluffy is still there and growling away to himself, which he always is, meaning that Snape’s not gotten past him yet.

We’ve started giving Professor Quirrell looks of encouragement and smiles whenever we pass him hoping that even just the little bit of reassurance that he’s doing brilliantly will help him take it even further than he’s already managed. Ron’s even started telling people off for making fun of him.

Along with the Stone and all of the problems revolving around it right now, we’ve also got another pressing matter creeping up on us as the weeks progress. Soon enough we’ll be taking our first lot of exams here at Hogwarts, and both Hermione and I are hard at work in between worrying about the Philosopher’s Stone with our revision for said exams, as well as trying to encourage the boys to go through their course notes as well. Mione’s taking things a little further than I, of course, as she’s been colour-coding her notes and writing up revision timetables to keep herself on track.

“Hermione, the exams are ages away,” Ron said one day after she’d nagged them into letting her write them a revision chart as well.

“Ten weeks,” she’d retorted in a snappy fashion, one that seems to be most prominent when she’s thinking about class work too much. “That’s not ages, that’s like a second to Nicolas Flamel.”

“But we’re not six hundred years old,” Ron had reminded her. “Anyway, what are you revising for? You already know it all.”

“What am I revising for?” she snapped back in exasperation. “Are you mad? You realise we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They’re very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don’t know what’s gotten into me…”

“Mione,” I had spoken up from my place beside Harry. “Don’t worry, okay? We’ll do fine, and as soon as the fifth week comes along, then we’ll start whipping them.” I grinned as I watched the colour drain from Ron’s face.

“Not funny, Y/N,” he said before looking back to his chess game set in front of the two of us. “She’ll probably do it, you know?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Ronald,” I laughed before checking his king. “I won’t let her actually whip anyone until at least the second week before.”

“You two are both idiots,” Hermione sighed.

It just so happens that our Professors seemed to have the same outlook on the ordeal as Hermione and I, as they’d started piling mounds of homework on us that I’m sure the boy’s found the Easter holidays not to be nearly as fun and laid back as our Christmas ones. Oh, the essays I had to read through, both Hermione and I, that the boys were unsure of, which was all of which we’d been set. I don’t think Mione minded looking them over so much though, as it gave her more opportunities to critique them. I suspect that in the future she’d make a very impressive professor herself.

“I’ll never remember this,” Ron bursts suddenly one afternoon as he throws down his quill and turned instead to stare out the library’s window. “Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?”

I tear my attention from my Transfiguration notes and look up to indeed find our friendly, gigantic, school gamekeeper looking awfully as if he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. He’s also hiding something, a book or sorts I expect, behind his back.

“Jus’ lookin’” he replies casually, but with a hint of worry in his voice. “An’ what’re you lot up ter?” His gaze suddenly turns from casual-caught-in-the-act to suspicious. “Yer not still lookin’ fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?”

“Oh, we found out who he is ages ago,” says Ron, and I nod in confirmation. “ _And_ we know what that dog’s guarding, it’s the Philosopher’s St-”

“ _Shhhh!_ ” Hagrid hurriedly shushes as he frantically look around trying to deduce if anyone’s heard us. “Don’ go shoutin’ about it, what’s the matter with yeh?”

“There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact,” Harry says, “about what’s guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy-”

“SHHHH!” he shushes again. “Listen – come an’ see me later, I’m not promisin’ I’ll tell yeh anythin’, mind, but don’ go rabbitin’ about it in here, students aren’ s’pposed ter know. They’ll think I’ve told yeh-”

“Excellent, I’ve been wanting to come and see Newton,” I cut of his ramblings with a smile.

“See you later, then,” says Harry. Hagrid now shuffles off and back out of the library, the book still hidden with him. I wish I’d had the chance to glance at what it was about.

“What was he hiding behind his back?” Hermione voices my thoughts exactly. “Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?”

“I’m going to see what section he was in,” informs Ron as he drags himself from his seat, obviously seeing this as the perfect excuse to get out of study. It’s only a few minuets later that he’s back and knocking me back out of my Transfiguration revision again. “ _Dragons!_ ” he whispers hoarsely. “Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper’s Guide._ ”

“Hagrid’s always wanted a dragon,” tells Harry, and I nod in remembrance of him telling me something of the sort one afternoon when I’d brought down some cookies for he and Newton. “He told me so the first time I ever met him.”

“But it’s against out laws,” says Ron. “Dragon-breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It’s hard to stop Muggles noticing us if we’re keeping dragons in the back garden – anyway, you can’t tame dragons, it’s dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie’s got off the wild ones in Romania.”

“But there aren’t wild dragons in _Britain?_ ” says Harry.

“Of course there are,” Ron informs. “Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our lot have to keep putting spells on Muggles who’ve spotted them, to make them forget.”

“So what’s Hagrid up to?” questions Mione.

“Not a clue,” I reply. “But I can tell you, I’m itching to find out.”

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

It’s been an hour since Hagrid had suspiciously left us to our work in the library, and now we’re stood outside of his hut. Ron’s the one to knock on the door. It seems that he’s either trying too keep out the dying light of the afternoon, or the prying eyes of random wanderers, as all the door are shut tight, and the curtains all seem to be drawn. Hagrid’s voice then breaks the short silence following our knocking.

“Who is it?” He lets us in as soon as we answer, but instantly I wish he’d just let us stay outside, as the blazing heat encapsulating the room is terrible overwhelming. I feel myself break into an almost instant sweat as soon as the door’s closed again. He tries offering us tea and stoat sandwiches, but we decline as kindly as possible.

“Wow… It’s like a sauna in here,” I say before Hagrid gets to what he’s wanting to say.

“So – yeh wanted to ask me somethin’?”

“Yes,” Harry replies. “We were wondering if you could tell us what’s guarding the Philosopher’s Stone apart from Fluffy.” This question earns him an instantaneous frown.

“O’ course I can’t,” he answers. “Number one, I don’ know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn’ tell yeh if I could. That Stone’s here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts – I s’ppose yeh’ve worked that out an’ all? Beats me how ye even know abou’ Fluffy.” 

“Oh come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you _do_ know, you know everything that goes on round here,” Hermione flatters the giant, bushy man, and I giggle under my breath when I notice the look of pleasure on Hagrid’s face. She’s quite cunning when she wants to be, our Hermione Granger. “We only wondered who had done the guarding, really. We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you.”

“Well,” he begins, and I beam at my brunette best friend full of pride, “I don’ s’pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that… let’s see… he borrowed Fluffy from me… then some o’ the teachers did enchantments… Professor Sprout – Professor Flitwick – Professor McGonagall – Professor Quirrell – an’ Dumbledore himself did somethin’, o’ course. Hang on, I’ve forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape.”

“ _Snape?_ ” we all ask in union out of shock.

“Yeah – yer not still on abou’ that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped _protect_ the Stone, he’s not about ter steal it.”

So… so if Snape is ‘helping protect’ the Stone, then that means he’s got a pretty good idea as to what the rest of our teachers have cast and conjured to protect it as well! All except, it would seem, whatever Quirrell has done to keep it safe. That _must_ be why he’s bullying the poor man into helping him and not anyone else! Because he’s already figured the rest out!

“You’re the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren’t you, Hagrid?” Harry asks the man anxiously, and I can tell he must be thinking the same as myself, and most likely Hermione and Ron, too. “And you wouldn’t tell anyone, would you?”

“Not even one of the teachers?” I’m quick to add on.

“Not a soul knows except me an’ Dumbledore,” he answers steady.

“Well, that’s something,” Harry breathes a sigh of relief, and I nod.

“Um – Hagrid, do you think you could crack one of the windows? It’s far too hot in here,” I ask the kind man, but sadly I receive a shake of his head in return.

“Can’t, Y/N, sorry,” he say.

“Hagrid – what’s _that?_ ” Harry suddenly asks, and I follow his line of sight to find a very familiar looking shape resting upon the coals within the fire.

Hagrid doesn’t quite know how to answer, and more so than ever does he look nervous about what we’ve asked. If dragons are illegal to keep as pets, then I’m sure he’s worried about word getting out and getting in trouble for having an egg sitting in his fireplace.

“Where did you get it, Hagrid?” asks Ron, a look of awe on his face. I move over towards the fire and look over the rough egg shell. I don’t recognise the type as dragons are something I haven’t paid as much attention too when regarding Magical Creatures. “It must’ve cost you a fortune.”

“Won it,” he says finally. “Las’ night. I was down in the village havin’ a few drinks an’ got into a game o’ cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest.”

“But what are you going to do with it when it’s hatched?” Hermione asks next. Hagrid moves over to his large bed and pulls the book that he’d had hidden behind his back from under his pillow.

“Go this outta the library – _Dragon-Breeding for Pleasure and Profit –_ it’s a bit outta date, o’ course, but it’s all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, ‘cause their mothers’ breathe on ‘em, see, an’ when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o’ brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour.

“An’ see here – how ter recognise diff’rent eggs – what I got there’s a Norwegian Ridgeback. They’re rare, them.”

“Hagrid, you live in a _wooden house_ ,” Mione exclaims, though without getting his attention back off of the egg as he’s humming away to it like a mother might a restless baby.

“Hagrid?” I call to him, and his head shoots around. “Where’s Newton?”

“Ah, little fellers under me bed again, I think,” he answers, and with a questioning look from all three of my friends, I move over to the bed and couch at the side.

“Newton, are you there?”

“Who’s Newton?” asks Ron.

I don’t answer, however, as I’m suddenly tackled by my chipper little Niffler, who’s obviously deduced that I’ve most likely smuggled him down some more cookies from lunch. I pick him up and give him a hug before turning him around to face my friends.

“This is Newton… I haven’t really had the time to introduce you all before now,” I laugh as he squirms a little to get to my pocket. “He’s looking for the cookies I’ve brought him.”

“What _is_ that?” Harry suddenly asks, a strange look on his face.

“Umm, well, he’s a Niffler. Nifflers are Magical Creatures. They’ve got a little pouch on their fronts, see? And when they spot something sparkly, and they _really_ love sparkly things, they’ll snatch them up and store them away in there,” I explain.

“And how long have you know this one?” Mione asks.

“Oh, I don’t know – December?”

“You mean to say you’ve been helping look after this for months and we didn’t even know? Hagrid, where did you even get one! I thought they were more common with Goblins.”

“He ain’t mine,” Hagrid answers her. “Young Y/N brough’ ‘im a little while back, she did. Jus’ been keepin’ him outta trouble.”

“He’s _yours?_ Well where did _you_ find him?” Ron questions this time.

“Outside the first morning we got snow, actually. I brought him to breakfast with me, and Transfiguration. He got out in class and tried stealing one of Professor McGonagall’s bejeweled books, but she found him out.”

“And you didn’t get in trouble?” Mione asks.

“No, she was nice about the whole thing. Just asked me to bring him down to Hagrid. I think she had a soft spot for him, really. I could tell she liked him. I mean, who wouldn’t? Look at him! She let him keep the silverware he stole from the Great Hall and everything. You are the cutest little thing, aren’t you, Newton?” I say while scratching the creature’s belly, and he wriggles about before I hand him the cookie and he’s bolting back towards his hiding place, I suspect to escape the heat.

“And you never told us?” Hermione speaks again.

“To be completely honest with you, with everything else that’s been going on lately, it just kind of… slipped my mind I guess.”

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

This morning, Hedwig delivered Harry a small letter from Hagrid that said nothing but two words. ' _It’s hatching'_. The boys and I were immediately excited, and Ron even suggested skipping our Herbology class to go down and witness it, but even _I_ was against _that_ idea. It’s one thing to slack off on a study session for such, but a lesson in which we could be told something we’ll need to know for the exams? Yeah, no – I wouldn’t be missing that.

“Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?” Ron had tried reasoning with her.

“We’ve got lessons, we’ll get into trouble and that’s nothing to what Hagrid’s going to be in when someone finds out what he’s doing-”

“Shut up!” Harry whispered annoyed.

I was about to yell at him for being so rude before I caught sight of a lurking Malfoy standing only a few feet away and stopped still in his tracks. He’d no doubt just heard everything Hermione and Ron had just said, and he’s sure as anything not going to keep it to himself.

“Oh, dear…” I whispered out after watching him scamper away with the new information. “We’re doomed.”

“Come on!” said Hermione quickly. “We’ve got a lesson anyway. We’ll figure this out later!”

I nodded and followed behind her with both boys behind me. It was blatantly obvious they were angry at the fact we’d all just been caught by Malfoy and that Mione nor I were going to listen to their wanting to skip class, even if it’s for a pretty amazing cause. It was on our way there that they had both finally annoyed Hermione enough to have her agreeing to go to Hagrid’s during morning break.

“It’s nearly out!” Hagrid practically sings as he lets us in.

Inside of the wooden hut, the egg, once cradled by coals and ablaze logs, is now laying on the old, self-fashioned table covered in deep, lengthy cracks creating vaguely-moving segments of all different sizes and shapes. The baby dragon is moving about on the inside of the shell trying to break itself free.

We each sit down on one of Hagrid’s chairs and wait patiently for it to happen. Not a few moments later are a few of the segments erupting open and revealing one of the baby’s black, leathery wings! The little thing finally flops from the rest of the shell onto the table before us all looking awfully like a lump of dark leather or perhaps an umbrella’s canopy. It’s wings are very large in comparison to the rest of it, and it’s brilliant, fire-opal-orange eyes contrast greatly with it’s overall jet-black colouring.

“Wow…” I breathe as I watch it pick itself up and look around at us, who’re all staring back at it with gazes of awe and wonderment, as well as utter unbelieving on Harry’s part, but such is understandable, after all, he’s barely known about his wizarding blood for a year.

It sneezes, and a few sparks fly from it’s long snout tipped with wide nostrils that singe Hagrid’s beard ever so slightly.

“Isn’t he _beautiful?_ ” the aforementioned, huge man murmurs gently in his new friend’s direction. He reaches out to stroke his head, but the small dragon snaps at his fingers, baring his very sharp fangs. “Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!”

“Hagrid,” Hermione starts, “how fast to Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?”

Hagrid looks as though he’s about to answer, when suddenly he’s snapping my attention from the dragon and towards the window where he’s staring in horror. I try peering out it, but I can’t make anything out.

“What’s the matter?” I quickly ask.

“Someone was lookin’ through the gap in the curtains – it’s a kid – he’s runnin’ back up ter the school,” Hagrid answers in an uneven and low panic.

Harry jumps up from his seat and shoots to the door. He pulls it open and peers out obviously trying to identify who’s just seen Hagrid’s secret pet, and when he turns, his face is almost as pale as what Hagrid’s has become.

“It was Malfoy,” he mutters, and my heart sinks.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

Since Malfoy’s finding out of Hagrid’s secret last week, we’ve been spending as much of our free time as possible in his hut and trying to convince him that he can’t keep the dragon, especially now that Malfoy of all people knows about him. Harry’s been most prominent with worrying, and the rest of us aren’t far behind. I’ve been spending time with the reptile when we visit, as it’s seemed to take a liking to me which causes me to smile each time the little bugger tries handing me burning coals that I’ll always have to decline.

“Just let him go,” urges Harry one afternoon. “Set him free.”

“I can’t,” Hagrid replies. “He’s too little. He’d die.”

I frown and decline yet another coal from the dragon thinking about the poor thing trying to fend for himself out there in the Forbidden Forest or somewhere similar. He surely wouldn’t be able to look after himself. Especially not after being hand reared since hatching; he’s much too dependent on Hagrid for his meals.

“I’ve decided to call him Norbert,” informs Hagrid, and I smile at the name. Norbert and Newton, the best of friends! Though they aren’t actually very fond of each other. “He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where’s Mummy?”

“He’s lost his marbles,” mutters Ron, and I whack him on the arm in disapproval. “Hey! What’s that for?”

“Hagrid,” Harry says loudly, “give it a fortnight and Norbert’s going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment.”

It’s true, both things he’s said. Norbert has grown to be at least three time’s his hatching size in the short week that’s followed, and Malfoy has had an awfully smug grin and aura about himself since finding out. He hasn’t said anything yet, but I’m sure that his silence is tactical and not kind.

“I – I know I can’t keep him for ever, but I can’t jus’ dump him, I can’t.”

Harry seems to have had an idea, as he’s wheeling around to blurt something to Ron.

“Charlie,” he says.

“You’re losing it, too. I’m Ron, remember?”

“No – Charlie – your brother Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!”

“Brilliant!” exclaims Ron joyously. “How about it, Hagrid?”

Reluctantly, though understanding it’s in Norbert’s best interest, and his own, Hagrid finally agrees to send him off with Charlie if we can arrange it to be done.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

Another full week of studying and classes, and looking after Norbert and Newton of course, has passed by now, and we’re, Harry, Hermione, and I, sat in the Common Room going over a few different parchments we’re supposed to hand back for Potions when Ron suddenly bursts through the door into the empty-except-for-us room, tearing Harry’s invisibility cloak from himself. He’s just come back from helping Hagrid feed Norbert, and running down a few cookies for Newton at my request.

“It bit me!” he exclaims.

“He,” I correct.

“Alright, _he_ bit me!” Ron shows us all his hand that’s already become a little swollen and looks awfully painful to the touch. “I’m not going to be able to use a quill for a week I tell you, that dragon’s the most horrible animal I’ve ever met, by the way Hagrid goes on about it, you’d think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby.”

“Well I think he’s a lovely dragon,” I mutter in accordance to my own experience with the little not-so-little guy.

“That’s because all animals like you! Next time, you can go and help Hagrid feed him the rats!” Ron retorts, and I roll my eyes at him, taking his arm and inspecting the bloodied handkerchief that’s wrapped around it.

“Wonder if he’s venomous.”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“Of course not, I’m not the one with a pet dragon, Ronald,” I smile and let him have his hand back. “Think you should consider going to see Madam Pomfrey for that. Could get infected.”

“And say what?”

There’s a sudden tapping at the Common Room window that tears our conversation apart and directs us to the arrival of Hedwig, who’s no doubt holding Charlie’s reply. Harry’s quick to jump up and let the bird in and gently takes the letter. I take a half a cookie that I’ve got left from my now cold tea and hand it to her, and she coos in thanks before taking off again.

The four of us stare down to the unfolded letter, and Harry, much to Ron’s relief, reads it aloud for us.

“Dear Ron, How are you? Thanks for the letter – I’d be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won’t be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn’t be seen carrying and illegal dragon.

“Could you get the Ridgeback up to the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it’s still dark. Send me an answer as soon as possible. Love, Charlie.”

“This is amazing,” I say after we all exchange glances of relief. “This means we’ll be able to get him out of here before Malfoy starts trouble!”

“We’ve still got until Saturday night,” reminds Hermione. “There’s still time for him to change his mind.”

“We’ve got the invisibility cloak,” says Harry. “It shouldn’t be too difficult – I think the cloak’s big enough to cover two of us and Norbert.”

So our plan is a go, then. We’ll go to Hagrid’s Saturday before midnight and take Norbert up to the top of the tallest tower. Hopefully there’s no trouble to block us from point A to B, but with any luck at all, this plan should go off without a hitch.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

It was to all of our bad luck, but mostly Ron’s, that Norbert’s fangs did in fact turn out to be poisonous. The very next morning after receiving Charlie’s letter, we’d all woken to find Ron’s hand very swollen and a whole lot more painful-looking than the night before. It looked to be twice the size. It was then he admitted he should have gone to Madam Pomfrey when I’d suggested it.

Harry, Hermione, and myself all rushed up to the hospital wing at the end of the day after all of our classes were over to find him looking much unlike his usual self in bed.

“It’s not just my hand,” he’d whispered after we’d asked whether he was feeling so terribly, “although that feels like it’s about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me – I’ve told her it was a dog but I don’t think she believes me – I shouldn’t have hit him at the Quidditch match, that’s why he’s doing this.”

“You should never regret hitting Malfoy. I sure as snow in winter don’t,” I told him with a grin that seems to lighten his mood a little, and he even chuckled thinking about when I’d told him I’d hit him square in the cheek one afternoon when he was being even more of a prat than usual.

“It’ll all be over at midnight on Saturday,” said Hermione in a comforting fashion. This, however, didn’t seem to relax him in the slightest.

“Midnight on Saturday!” he cried out in a panic. “Oh no – oh no – I’ve just remembered – Charlie’s letter was in that book Malfoy took, he’s going to know we’re getting rid of Norbert.”

There wasn’t a thing we could do, however, as it was much too late to owl Charlie again and change the plans, so we just decided we’d have to stick the time out and wait to see if we’d actually get away with it or not. There was all the chance, after all, that Malfoy wouldn’t even open the book he’d ‘borrowed’ from Ron.

We decided after telling Hagrid about Charlie’s reply that it’d be Harry and I to take Norbert to the tower, as it’s Harry’s cloak, and I’m the only one of the four of us that Norbert seems to tolerate. Hermione was not pleased about this, but with a little reassurance that it was our best bet, she was on board as well.

So now here we are, Harry, Norbert, and I, moving as quickly as possible through the corridor beneath the tallest tower, scampering through the dark beneath the cloak, and to my utmost disbelief, we haven’t come across a single soul. Before now, that is.

“Detention!” Professor McGonagall, who’s dressed up in her dressing gown and hair net calls callously whilst dragging a squirming Malfoy by the ear. “And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how _dare_ you-”

“You don’t understand, Professor, Harry Potter’s coming – he’s got a dragon!”

“What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on – I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!”

We both wait in bated silence for a long while until we’re both sure that we’ve no time left to spare, and that McGonagall and Malfoy are long gone, and then we’re dragging Norbert up the long, spiral stairs with us to the tippy top of the tower, and after ten more minutes, Charlie’s friends, thank Merlin, show up on four broomsticks to take Norbert far, far away.

I am sad to see him gone, as he was definitely and interesting creature, but to have him gone is a huge load off of our shoulders, both ours, and Hagrid’s.

My steps falter when we’re in the corridor on our way to the dorms, and suddenly my throat runs dry at the thought I’ve just had. Harry turns abruptly to ask what’s wrong, until, it seems, he’s suddenly remembered, too.

We’ve left the invisibility cloak behind.

“Well, well, well,” the oily voice of Filch ensnares us both, “we _are_ in trouble.” 

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

_Words~ 4,815_


	15. ~14 - Centaurs And Stars~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's about time that Harry and Y/N face their detention, but along with finding some strange creatures lurking in the Forbidden Forest, and faintly seeing what could be the cause of the injured unicorns, it isn't any of those things that confuses young Miss Amethyst. It's the fact Malfoy's certain he's witnessed her eyes glow. What on earth could he be on about?

Well, at least we’ve managed to get Norbert out of here I suppose… Though I do wish ever so much that Filch was sculking around a _different_ corridor tonight, but seeing as things have gone so well up until now, at this stage, with our track record, it going wrong could only be expected. Because when does anything ever run smoothly?

He’s drug us to Professor McGonagall’s office, and neither of us have said a word to each other from where we’re sat outside of it. How can we have forgotten the cloak? It seems like, and most probably is, the least likely thing to have us caught, and yet here we are.

Professor McGonagall and, for some reason, Neville Longbottom are the two to walk out to greet us, yet neither of them look particularly pleased.

“Harry!” Neville bursts as soon as he’s clamped his sights on the two of us, “I was trying to find you to warn you, I heard Malfoy saying he was going to catch you, he said you had a drag-” Harry quickly shakes his head erratically at the other boy warning him that saying anything more will only make matters much worse.

“I would never have believed it of any of you. Mr Filch says you were up the Astronomy Tower. It’s one o’clock in the morning. _Explain yourselves,_ ” our professor seethes out angrily.

I can’t think of a single thing to say. Nothing comes to mind whatsoever, especially after all the information she’s already been given. What’s there to say? To defend? There’s nothing that’ll turn this around for us now, and I think Harry knows it as well, because he looks just as pitiful as I right at the moment.

“I think I’ve got a good idea of what’s been going on,” says she, and I close my eyes awaiting her verdict. “It doesn’t take a genius to work it out. You fed Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. I’ve already caught him. I suppose you think it’s funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?”

I’m completely caught off guard by this, as, and I’d never thought I’d say it, she’s gotten it completely wrong, and in doing so has made us seem as though we take pleasure in seeing Neville in trouble as such, which is ridiculous! I’d never! _We’d_ never! The look on Neville’s face makes it all the more worse… he look so hurt. In his mind, he snuck out, broke the rules, just to keep Harry and I from getting into trouble, and now according to what McGonagall’s accusing, we’ve just thrown that back in his face.

“I’m disgusted,” says McGonagall. “Four students out of bed in one night! I’ve never heard of such a thing before! You, Miss Amethyst, I thought you had more sense. As for you, Mr Potter, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this. All three of you will receive detentions – yes, you too, Mr Longbottom-”

“But he didn’t do anything wrong!” I yell out, and then cover my mouth following said outburst.

“Silence! _Nothing_ gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it’s very dangerous – and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor.”

“ _Fifty_ ,” Harry gasps.

“But, Professor! Then we’ll-”

“Miss Amethyst! I suggest you learn to bit your tongue. It has gotten you into plenty enough trouble as it is! Fifty points _each_ ,” she clarifies whilst breathing through her anger.

“Professor – please-”

“You _can’t_ -”

“Professor, listen, I know-”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, potter. Now get back to bed, all of you. I’ve never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students.”

With all said and dealt, I couldn’t feel _worse_. This, these lost one hundred and fifty points, will put us in fourth place, so after news gets out, Professor McGonagall isn’t going to be the only person severally disappointed in us all, and not to mention the fact that Neville looks absolutely _shattered_ , and he had nothing to do with it!

As we begin our long track back to our dorms, I quickly run up to Neville and take up his sleeve. I _need_ him to understand that we never meant for him to get in trouble, nor involved, and that we appreciate what he intended to do for us, and that I’m so, so very sorry.

“Neville, listen-”

“I don’t wanna talk about it please, Y/N,” he remarks before removing my grip and continuing on his way.

“But we never-”

“Please just stop…” he sounds as though he’s holding back a flood of tears, and hearing such, causes I myself to do the same.

I choke on a short sob before looking to Harry with watery eyes and then taking off as quickly as possible before he can say anything at all as to avoid either of them having to see me cry.

The next morning the realisation as to what had occurred the night before starts off slowly, and then all at once. How the great Potter, and the strange Amethyst girl had lost all of their points by being out when they weren’t supposed to. Neville still isn't speaking to me, but I suppose that’s okay, as every time I picture the hurt in his eyes I almost break down and cry again. Hermione’s been trying to cheer me up, but I just feel so horrible.

“Thanks, Potter!” some Slytherin boys call across to us in the halls. I’ve still barely spoken two words myself since explaining to Mione what happened in our dorms this morning. “We owe you one!”

“They’ll forget all about this in a few weeks. Fred and George have lost loads of points in all the time they’ve been here, and people still like them,” Ron tries to console.

“ _I’m_ not worried about the ruddy _points_!” I exclaim, and then fall silent again as they look to me in shock. “We got Neville in trouble. This isn’t just about some points. It's not even about us. He had nothing to do with it and it isn't fair.”

“And Fred and George’ve never lost a hundred and fifty points in one go, have they?” mumbles Harry miserably. 

“Well – no,” Ron mutters in reply.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

I’ve stayed silent during classes, mostly to avoid people’s eyes, and seeing as I was trying to remain as invisible as possible, Hermione tried her best to remain silent as well as she’s always sitting next to me.

The only real reason I pipe up anymore is when someone’s going at Neville for what happened, and I’ll stand up for him. I felt a little bit better one lesson when I yelled at Malfoy to shut his pompous mouth when he was congratulating Neville on helping Slytherin make first place. I was livid at the blond boy, and because of such, Snape took a further five points from me for yelling in class, which earned me even more glances than I was getting before.

In all of this I’ve been trying to keep my head as far down as possible, so I suppose having exams approaching so quickly works in my favour, as I’m able to devote all my time to revising and study instead of overthinking everything that’s happened. That’s not to say I don’t still dwell on it though, I just save those thoughts for when I’m laying in bed in the dark silently.

It’s on one particular afternoon a week before our exams that Harry and I are stumbling through one of the corridors to return a few books for our group to the library that we suddenly stop dead in our tracks when we hear a muffled voice inside of a classroom.

“No – no – not again, please-” begs none other than Professor Quirrell. He sounds like he’s being threatened, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure by who. “All right – all right-”

A few seconds later, said professor moves out of the classroom and into the hall with us, straightening the turban on his head. Perhaps Snape was getting a little rough in there, which is disgusting. He looks as though he might cry, and he’s deathly-pale. He doesn’t seem to see us, and he just walks away.

“We’re on the same page here, right?” I mutter dully to the round-glasses boy, and he nods. Neither of us are going to be going in to investigate what’s just occurred. Things will most likely go south again, and people are just starting to stop with their relentless reminding of what we’ve already done.

Harry and I walk away from the door and finally into the library where Hermione is testing Ron on his Astronomy. Harry’s the one to tell them what we’ve just witnessed.

“Snape’s done it, then!” Ron says. “If Quirrell’s told him how to break his Anti-Dark Forces spell-”

“There’s still Fluffy, though,” reminds Mione.

“Maybe Snape’s found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid,” suggests Ron grimly. “I bet there’s a book somewhere in here, telling you how to get past a giant, three-headed dog. So what do we do, Harry?”

“Go to Dumbledore. That’s what we should have done ages ago. If we try anything ourselves we’ll be thrown out for sure,” Hermione quickly says.

“But we’ve got no _proof!_ ” exclaims Harry, and I sigh knowing he has a point no matter how appealing Mione’s suggestion may be. “Quirrell’s too scared to back us up. Snape’s only got to say he doesn’t know how the troll got in at Halloween and that he was nowhere near the third floor – who do you think they’ll believe, him or us? It’s not exactly a secret we hate him, Dumbledore’ll think we made it up to get him sacked. Filch wont help us if his life depended on it, he’s too friendly with Snape, and the more students get thrown out, the better, he’ll think. And don’t forget, we’re not supposed to know about Fluffy. That’ll take a lot of explaining.”

“Harry’s right,” I sigh again, looking to the table and fidgeting with my fingers. “There’s nothing we can say that won’t get Hagrid in trouble now. After all, he wasn’t supposed to say anything, and the only reason we know some of what we do is because he’s told us.”

Hermione looks convinced, but Ron, however, does not.

“If we just do a bit of poking around-” he begins.

“No,” Harry flat out refuses. “We’ve done enough poking around.”

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

The next morning, we were all gathered around for breakfast when we each, Harry, Neville, and I, receive our notes reminding us of our detention that’s apparently to take place tonight.

‘ **Your detention will take place at eleven o’clock tonight.**  
 **Meet Mr Filch in the Entrance Hall.**

**Prof. M. McGonagall’**

So as eleven o’clock does finally roll around, Harry, Neville, and myself, who’ve just said goodbye to Hermione and Ron, are stood in the Entrance Hall, as instructed, awaiting a probably excited Filch for our detention. Malfoy, both sadly and gladly, is here as well.

“Follow me,” sneers Filch after lighting his lamp and leading us outside. “I bet you’ll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won’t you, eh?” he continues. “Oh yes… hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me… It’s just a pity they let the old punishments die out… hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I’ve got the chains still in my office, keep ‘em well oiled in case they’re ever needed… Right, off we go, and don’t think of running off, now, it’ll be worse for you if you do.”

I spend most of his monologue rolling my eyes as our feet all tap away at the grounds, and in the back of my mind I wonder, seeing he’s so excited about physical punishment, what we'll be in for tonight. Surely our professors won’t let him actually harm us, right?

We’re all following dutifully behind him and his lantern, Harry and I walking side by side, Malfoy just behind Filch, and Neville keeping close to Harry and I walking just behind us both. The moon is brilliantly bright tonight, which gives me a little comfort in the glinting night, the darkness of the grounds, the contrasting stars lighting nothing, and the patchy clouds oiling the darkness further. It’s after a few long minutes that we’ve arrived at Hagrid’s hut.

“Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started,” Hagrid’s voice cascades towards us through the dark. I glance to my side to see Harry looking much more chipper than before. I suppose he reckons we’ll be getting off easy with Hagrid around, but I’ve got a terrible feeling we wont be in the least.

“I suppose you think you’ll be enjoying yourself with that oaf?” Filch spits with oil and malice. “Well, think again, boy – it’s into the Forest you’re going and I’m much mistaken if you’ll all come out in one piece.”

Neville’s teeth start chattering, though I suspect it isn’t from the cold, as suddenly his hands are bawled around both mine and Harry’s robe sleeves, holding us ever-closer to him after the news has been announced. Malfoy even looks afraid, yet ever-skeptical.

“The Forest?” Malfoy demands. “We can’t go in there at night – there’s all sorts of things in there – werewolves, I heard.”

“That’s your lookout, isn’t it?” Filch replies. “Should’ve thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn’t you?”

Hagrid breaks up the awful conversation by strolling over with a large cross-bow pressed against his shoulder and a quiver or arrows, or bolts, to match.

“Abou’ time,” he says. “I bin waitin’ fer half an hour already. All right, Harry, Y/N?”

“I shouldn’t be too friendly to them, Hagrid,” cuts Filch icily. “They’re here to be punished, after all.”

“That’s why yer late, is it?” Hagrid frowns to the greasy man. “Bin lecturin’ them, eh? ‘Snot your place ter do that. Yeh’ve done yer bit, I’ll take over from here.”

“I’ll be back at dawn,” Filch concludes with an evil little smirk in his glossy, horrid eyes, “for what’s left of them.”

“Don’t pay him any mind, Neville,” I whisper to the terrified boy. “He’s only being nasty, as always – you know what he’s like.” The boy nods and his shaking lessens, but doesn’t vanish. He’s been speaking to me again ever since I’ve been sticking up for him when others comment on what he did because of us, and I appreciate that he heard me out when I explained to him that we had no intentions of getting him in trouble.

“I’m not going into that Forest,” I hear Malfoy tell off Hagrid with a sternness to him that’s wavering underneath the underlining fear.

“Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts,” Hagrid retorts fiercely. “Yeh’ve done wrong an’ now yeh’ve got ter pay fer it.”

“But this is servant stuff, it’s not for students to do. I thought we’d be writing lines or something. If my father knew I was doing this, he’d-”

“-tell yer that’s how it is at Hogwarts,” Hagrid growls conclusively. “Writin’ lines! What good’s that ter anyone? Yeh’ll do summat useful or yeh’ll get out. If yeh think yer father’d rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an’ pack. Go on!”

Malfoy, after Hagrid’s display of displeasure, which is a side nor us, and apparently nor Malfoy has ever seen, submits and quietens up, even if he does like like he’d love to protest further, he doesn’t. He simply looks to the ground with that scowl of his and I smile slightly to see Hagrid is no pushover when it comes to the Malfoy name.

“Right then, now listen carefully, ‘cause it’s dangerous what we’re gonna do tonight an’ I don’ want no one taken’ risks. Follow me over here a moment.”

He leads us all to the outskirts of the Forest, right on the tree line, his large lamp swaying back and forth and spreading an orange glow through the dark. He points down a narrow, deep bush track, and then disappears into the thicket, a light breeze accompanying him, and with one last deep breath each to steel ourselves, we, too, head into the trees.

“Look there,” says Hagrid, “see that stuff shinin’ on the ground? Silvery stuff? That’s unicorn blood. There’s a unicorn in here bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We’re gonna try an’ find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery.”

“And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?” Malfoy asks the question that’s spinning in all of our heads to some degree. He, though, surprisingly enough, sounds more scared than even _I_.

“There’s nothin’ that lives in the Forest that’ll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang,” says Hagrid, and with a warm smile I pat and greet the grate hound. “An’ keep ter the path. Right, now, we’re gonna split inter two parties an’ follow the trail in diff’rent directions. There’s blood all over the place, it must’ve bin staggerin’ around since last night at least.”

Splitting up? Well, now I love Hagrid, he’s one of the many people I’d never want to get hurt, and I’d never say a bad thing to his name, but split up? In the Forbidden Forest? In the middle of the night? He must have hit his head some time today, because this sounds like a completely ludicrous plan! Split us up… who in their right mind would decide that? I mean please! We’re eleven years old for Pete’s sake!

“I want Fang,” Malfoy suddenly declares, and I scowl at him as he drags the dog from my side where he’s become comfortable sitting.

“All right, but I warn yeh, he’s a coward,” warns Hagrid. “So me, Harry, an’ Y/N’ll go one way an’ Draco, Neville, an’ Fang’ll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we’ll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an’ practice – now – that’s it – an’ if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an’ we’ll all come an’ find yeh – so, be careful – let’s go.”

The silence is practically deafening as we stroll though the onyx trees and inky shrubbery, the breeze winding around the large and thin trunks alike and licking at the mist that’s cascading as if it’s water stuck in slow motion over the forest floor, thinner and thicker in different patches. The entire world inside of the Forest seems as though it’s a realm all it’s own, and perhaps it is. Who’s saying that when we pass through the Forest’s threshold we don’t teleport to another world entirely? The way the darkness is sitting and singing silently around us would suggest such a thing.

We’re just as silent as the night as we walk, our steps muffled by the damp leaves and our breaths billowing in front of our faces the deeper in we wander, as the deeper we get, the colder the Forest seems to become. Every now and then the moonlight careening through the canopy where the leaves aren’t as dense illuminates small speckles of unicorn blood, and with each trickle of silver-blue light that shines from the ground, the more Hagrid’s face seems to contort into a deeper state of worry.

“ _Could_ a werewolf be killing the unicorns?” Harry asks, which causes me to jump as he’s broken the silence so suddenly.

“No, they couldn’t,” I respond.

“Not fast enough,” Hagrid agrees. “It’s not easy ter catch a unicorn, they’re powerful magic creatures. I never knew one ter be hurt before.”

There are tipped logs covered in dew and moss of varying colouration and thicknesses, and there are mushrooms of all shapes, sizes, and even various glows, some of which I recognise from one of my Herbology textbooks, and others I’ve never seen before. Somewhere up ahead there’s the distinct sound of rushing water meaning we’ll probably come across a stream in the coming minutes. I suddenly frown deeply as we cross a particularly dense puddle of blood.

“You alright, Y/N?” Hagrid whispers to me. “Don’ worry, it can’t’ve gone far if it’s this badly hurt n’ then we’ll be able ter – GET BEHIND THAT TREE!”

Hagrid takes both Harry and I and lifts us both from the ground in one swoop before shoving us behind a large stump and out of sight of whatever he’s just seen that we haven’t. He then pulls up his crossbow and nocks an arrow, raises it steadily, and points it off north of us. Something can be heard moving over the dead leaves somewhere nearby, as if it’s floating and trailing fabric through the litter. Hagrid’s eyes squint as the sound finally fades to nothingness and the silence of the Forest is all that envelopes us once again.

“I knew it,” he mutters to himself. “There’s summat in here that shouldn’ be.”

“A werewolf?” Harry suggests. I await Hagrid’s answer.

“That wasn’ no werewolf an’ it wasn’ no unicorn, neither. Right, follow me, but be careful, now.”

We’re about to take off again, before suddenly were startled by more movement off into the stillness.

“Who’s there,” Hagrid calls out. “Show yerself – I’m armed! Oh, it’s you, Ronan. How are yeh?”

I look up to the creature, or person, that’s just come across us. He’s a large, half man, half horse, or more commonly named a Centaur. He’s long red hair and beard to match, and a gleaming chestnut, horse body with a long tail, the colour reminiscent of his hair. Hagrid steps forward and shakes his hand, and I wave from my place beside a stunned Harry.

“Good evening to you, Hagrid. Were you going to shoot me?” he asks sorrowfully.

“Can’t be too careful, Ronan. There’s summat bad loose in this Forest. This is Harry Potter and Y/N Amethyst, by the way. Students up at the school. An’ this is Ronan, you two. He’s a centaur.

“We’d noticed,” I smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Ronan.”

“Good evening. Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?” he replies quite conversationally.

“Erm-” begins Harry.

“Quite a bit, yes,” I reply for him.

“A bit. Well, that’s something,” he replies before swinging his head back to observe the sky, much as it’s a centaurs commodity to do. “Mars is bright tonight.”

“Yeah,” agrees Hagrid giving the sky a quick glance. “Listen, I’m glad we’ve run inter yeh, Ronan, ‘cause there’s a unicorn bin hurt – you see anything?”

The centaur, Ronan, doesn’t reply for a good moment before he turns his gaze back on Hagrid and says, “Always the innocent are the first victims. So it has been for ages past, so it is now.”

“Yeah,” Hagrid agrees again, “but have yeh seen anythin’, Ronan? Anything unusual?”

“Mars is bright tonight. Unusually bright,” he answers, and I suppose that’s what he’s suggesting to be the abnormality within these past few nights. Of course, there isn’t much else he’s able to say with the way they are, I guess.

“Yeah, but I was meanin’ anythin’ unusual a bit nearer to home. So yeh haven’t noticed anything strange?”

“The Forest hides many secrets,” Ronan replies once again with the mysterious aura he has about him. Suddenly there’s more movement from behind him within the trees, and after Hagrid’s raised his bow again, we’re greeted by another centaur, this one with black hair and body, though looking much less calm than Ronan.

“Hullo, Bane,” greets Hagrid. “All right?”

“Good evening, Hagrid, I hope you are well?”

“Well enough. Look, I’ve jus’ bin askin’ Ronan, you seen anythin’ odd in here lately? Only there’s a unicorn bin injured – would yeh know anythin’ about it?”

Bane walks up to stand alongside Ronan, and he, too, looks to the stars, and his answer does nothing to help Hagrid’s growing inpatients with the two. “Mars is bright tonight.” I giggle a little at his answer, which coaxes a sort of smile from Harry, too.

“We’ve heard,” Hagrid grumpily grumbles. “Well, if either of you do see anythin’, let me know, won’t yeh? We’ll be off, then.”

Harry and I follow the giant man out of the clearing we’ve been stood in, Harry watching behind us at Ronan and Bane until the trees are obscuring his view, and then he’s turning around to give me a questioning look.

“Never,” Hagrid starts, “try an’ get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy star-gazers. Not interested in anythin’ closer’n the moon.”

“It’s just the way they are, I suppose,” I comment, earning a sigh and a nod from the man. ‘Are there many of them in here?”

“Oh, a fair few… Keep themselves to themselves mostly, but they’re good enough about turnin’ up if ever I want a word. They’re deep, mind, centaurs… they know things… jus’ don’ let on much.”

“D’you think that was a centaur we heard earlier?” asks Harry.

“Did that sound like hooves to you? Nah, if yeh ask me, that was what’s bin killin’ the unicorns – never heard anythin’ like it before.”

It’s after another few minutes that I’m drawn from my gaze on a glowing-violet toadstool by the appearance of a radiant, red glowing somewhere off in the distance a little whiles away. I wait a moment to see if anyone else’s seen it, but they don’t seem to have, and so I stay quiet until I see it again, and this time I _know_ what I’ve seen.

“Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!”

“You two wait here!” shouts Hagrid before galloping off towards the light’s source. “Stay on the path, I’ll come back for yeh!”

After he’s gone, I feverishly turn to Harry and wonder if he’s thinking the same as me. Whatever’s been killing the unicorns has found Neville, Fang, and Malfoy, and they’re facing it on their own! If Hagrid doesn’t make it there in time, they might die without his help! That is, if he _can_ help. It could be far too far out of his range of magical prowess to fight off.

“Do you think Hagrid will be able to handle it? I don’t think he’s much allowed to do magic, is he? From what I’ve noticed, anyhow,” I comment to Harry, the boy staring back at me equally as worried.

“I don’t care if Malfoy’s gotten himself hurt, but if anything’s got Neville… It’s our fault he’s here in the first place,” Harry reminds with a sad frown.

“Don’t remind me… I’ve been feeling terrible about it. Everyone is always treating him so much differently all because he can seem a little different himself, and just as I got him to trust me as a friend, this happens, and Malfoy has him going and thinking I don’t care at all!”

“You really do care for people, don’t you?” Harry more observes than asks, and I nod my head.

“I’ve always been this way, I s’pose. Never really questioned it, though. I think it’s because of my mum, really. She was always so kind to everyone she loved and cared for, and I guess I want to be the person to continue on with how she was.”

“I think you do an amazing job at it,” he smiles kindly, “and I know Neville doesn’t think bad of you, how could he? You’ve been nothing but nice to him and us after all. It’s only if he were Malfoy or some of the other Slytherin’s would he need to worry.”

Harry’s comment makes me chuckle slightly before my attention falls onto the soundless, breathless Forest surrounding us, and the imminent dangers that lurk within. Suddenly, Hagrid reappears from the thicket with a puffing Neville and Malfoy following, both seemingly puffed from trying to keep pace with Hagrid’s ginormous strides. Hagrid doesn’t look happy, either.

“What happened?” I’m the one to ask.

“Malfoy jumped ou’ an’ scared Mr Longbottom. He panicked, he did, threw up some sparks. ‘S all right, Neville, no need to be lookin’ so glum. Not your fault in the least bit.”

“Malfoy was just being immature, Neville, it wasn’t your fault,” I reassure the boy as well, and he nods and joins me at my side.

“We’ll be lucky to catch anythin’ now,” Hagrid tells, “with the racket you two were makin’. Right, we’re changing groups – Neville, you stay with me and Y/N, Harry, you go with Fang an’ this idiot. I’m sorry,” Hagrid then whispered to Harry after his informed him of the new arrangements. I chuckle at this. "but he’ll have a harder time frightenin’ you, an’ we’ve gotta get this done… I’d let you go on with ‘em, Y/N, I would-”

“It’s all right, Hagrid, I understand,” I assure. “Harry, be careful, please? Don’t go getting yourself into trouble while I can’t help, alright? And if Malfoy’s acting out, his weak spot is right beneath his left cheek-bone I’ve found, and-”

“ _A’ight,_ we’ve gotta get goin’, Y/N, come along.”

I wish with everything a little while later that I had have argued to be placed in Harry and Malfoy’s group when I hear the terrible scream that erupts through the entire Forest as if the voice was bouncing off water, my head whips around to find Hagrid’s eyes, and he looks just as startled as me, and Neville looks as though he’s about to faint.

“HARRY!” I scream in the call’s general direction before bolting, not listening for a second to Hagrid’s cries for me to come straight back and to stay with the ground, or that I’ll end up lost, I can’t even begin to care, because what if it’s gotten him?

“Harry?!” I cry into the thicket again after a while of running, until suddenly I’m bashing straight into another body. I’m so shocked I can’t even draw my wand to defend myself, which makes it dumb luck that it’s only Malfoy I’ve run into, Fang on his heels.

“Where is he?” I ask the stunned boy who’s on the ground alongside me, him panting quickly and unable to answer just yet.

With his lack of answer I grow frustrated and simply stand glaring down at the boy. He’s giving me a look of utter bewilderment as if he’s just now seeing a blood-sucking vampire instead of me, and then I’m off in the direction he’s come from hoping Harry is still doing okay at the other end of it.

I burst into a small clearing, hearing soft voices resonating around me, and when I see a familiar mop of dark, dark hair, I sprint in his direction and engulf him in a hug.

“You idiot! Didn’t I just tell you to be careful? What’s happened? Are you okay? What’s-”

“Y/N,” Harry begins. “Calm down, please, I’m fine, are you okay? Where’s Hagrid and the rest?” There's the faintest trance of a blush I can barely make out on his face, which I suppose is because I've so suddenly decided to throw myself at him, but it was so in the moment I can't even fathom thinking about _that_ right now. Harry, too, is also looking at me more strangely than he has before.

“I bumped into Malfoy, but I ran off from Hagrid, come to think of it now, he’s going to be very angry with me when he finds me… who’s this? Hello, I’m Y/N, pleasure meeting you,” I smile to the new face I’m just now noticing after my blind panic.

“My name is Firenze, good evening,” he smiles. “You are a friend of Mr. Potter’s, Miss Amethyst, yes?”

“Yes, I am, wait – how did you-”

“Y/N! Harry!” I hear Hagrid calling us both, and I stop still and turn around to face him, and he looks a mix of panicked and livid. “What did I tell yeh, ey? ‘Bout runnin’ off like tha’! Could’ve got yerself lost, or hurt, yeh could!”

“I’m sorry, Hagrid… I couldn’t, I just – well, you see-”

“Ah, ‘s fine, jus’ - never again!” he demands with a soft look of understanding in his eyes I can’t place. Both Malfoy and Neville have strange looks on their faces, and I give them a questioning look back before Harry’s speaking again.

“The unicorn’s dead, Hagrid, it’s in the clearing back there.”

“This is where I leave you,” Firenze murmurs to Harry, and I smile and give him a nod when his eyes turn to me. He, too, smiles and nods. “Good luck Harry Potter, and you, too, Y/N Amethyst. The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this in one of those times.” He then turns and leaves us all in the dark once again, illuminated only by the dim moonlight and Hagrid’s lamp.

“I didn’t know your eyes glowed, Y/N,” Neville suddenly speaks up, and I look at him in bewilderment before turning my gaze to Hagrid and then Harry. “Malfoy told us when we found him that he’d run into you, and that your eyes were glowing.”

“My _what?_ ” I question loudly. “You _must_ have been seeing things, Malfoy?” I turn on the boy.

“I was not _seeing things!_ And how _dare_ you say I was! I know what I saw!”

“What I saw was a scared boy running through the woods, and all you saw was me, nothing more, nor any strange glows! Honestly, Malfoy,” I mutter before crossing my arms over my stomach and sinking behind Harry a little, trying to make sense of what I’ve just been told. People can see things when they’re panicking, can’t they? This just _has_ to be one of those times.

Hagrid doesn’t say anything, but his eyes stay on me for a little while before he declares that we need to be heading back, and so that’s what all five of us, and Fang, do. We head home.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

_Words~ 5,596_


	16. ~15 - Questions and Exams~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None of it's making much sense, and she can't find anything relevant to it in an library book. How on earth had her eyes glowed in the Forest that night? Is it even possible? Y/N, Harry, Hermione, and Ron are finally taking and finishing their exams, and once they've finished, Harry and Y/N suddenly realise something that might prove vital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are going to be people in this word who refuse to understand things. I just want you to know that I see you as whoever it is you want to be seen as, whether that me male, female, both, or neither, I accept you, and love you for you. Don't let anyone else tell you who you are, because they aren't you, and haven't the right to do so. Love you all.
> 
> Sinclair~

I’ve been spending hours upon hours more than usual in the library looking through things that shouldn’t bother me as much as they are, thing’s that mightn't be true, even, yet here I am surrounded by books on different famous wizarding blood lines trying to find anything that might answer the question that’s been buzzing about in my brain since Malfoy brought it to light.

Were my eyes truly glowing? How on this earth could they? It isn’t possible, right?

I’ve been over countless different possibilities in my head, and even have a few catalogued on a lengthy piece of parchment, all ranging from ‘a trick of the light’ to ‘Malfoy may have been in shock’ and even ‘the Forest can change a person once they’ve entered’, each coming to sound more likely as the books on older blood families I’ve been able to find dwindles to less and less.

‘ _Amethyst – A pure-blood linage renown for their peculiar eye colouration and healing abilities.’_ said _Old Wizarding Families: A to Z. ‘Amethyst – A family name passed to only the witches of blood who bare the curse of abnormality.’_ said _Blood Names And Their Respective Curses,_ which I decided was completely off, and even _‘Amethyst – Most recognisable by the distinct colour of lilac that encases the iris’ of all the Amethysts female descendants.’_ There’s nothing anywhere that has an answer!

“Y/N?” I hear from behind me suddenly while still glancing over _The Wizarding Word’s Family Name Dictionary._ I turn suddenly to come face to face with Harry, who’s looking somewhat uncomfortable, and I suppose that’s due to the fact I probably look like I haven’t slept… because, in actuality, I haven’t. “What are you doing here? Me, Ron, and Hermione have split up looking for you ‘cause you weren’t at breakfast. Hermione said you left before she got up this morning?”

I sigh and close the book’s heavy cover as Harry takes a seat at the table with me. I trace my fingers over the book’s cover waiting for him to lecture me like I’m sure Mione’s going to when I see her and she realises just how early I got up this morning.

“Are you okay?” he asks instead of scolding, and I look to him with a distant smile.

“I guess – I’m just… I’m confused is all. I just want answers. You’d know what that’s like better than most, Harry,” I answer truthfully. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately is all.”

“How long have you been here today?”

“Um, well, I’m assuming breakfast's over, so I’d say maybe five or six hours?” I mumble, and Harry immediately looks taken aback by my answer.

“How much sleep did you _get?_ ”

“None, if I’m being honest – look, Harry, I understand that you guys are confused, but I’ve just got to persist with this, okay? I need answers.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks after a long pause and an understanding head nod. He’s currently staring at his own hands as if I’m going to tell him I’d rather eat moulded cheese. “I mean, you don’t have to, but if you want to, we can.”

I smile and sigh once more. I lean forward and pick up all the read books from in front of me and gesture for him to follow me. Him, being the kind boy he is, takes half of the stack from my arms and I smile thankfully as he dutifully follows me from shelf to shelf so I can return them.

“I’ve been thinking about what Malfoy said in the Forbidden Forest, you remember? After I came to find you?”

Harry had told Hermione, Ron, and I how he’d come to find Firenze the centaur and what he’d seen drinking the unicorn’s blood the next morning after our detention in the Common Room following breakfast. He said about the hooded figure and how it must have been what he, Hagrid and I had heard before finding Ronan and Bane. Said about how Firenze had scared it away from him when it had come towards him and about him meeting Ronan and Bane again after Firenze had offered to walk him back to us. Told us how he's certain it was Lord Voldemort drinking the unicorn's blood.

“Yeah, about your eyes, right?”

“Right. Well, I’ve been looking through everything I can, but there’s nothing on it anywhere! There isn’t even that much written that I don’t already know, or more than is already publicly common knowledge, and I’ve been trying to convince myself that Malfoy was just seeing things but there’s something telling me he wasn’t and it’s all a big mess…”

“You mean you didn’t know your eyes could do that before that night?” His answer surprises me, and I accidentally drop the book I’m holding to the floor. I mutter an oops before retrieving it again and then replying.

“So you believe him? You don’t think he was seeing things?”

“I _saw_ it,” he replies, and this time after dropping the book again, he’s the one to pick it up as I’m stood still in disbelief.

“What do you mean, _you saw it?_ ” I finally utter. “And why didn’t you say so sooner?”

“Well I don’t know all that much about the magic world yet, and I guess I thought you knew and that you just didn’t want Malfoy making fun of you or something and that’s why you denied it and all,” he rushes out. “I thought it might just be normal.”

“I – as far as I’m aware it’s never happened before… it has to be _something_ to do with my blood, right? What was it like? What did you see?”

“Well, Malfoy was talking like they were glowing brightly, but when I saw you they were just starting to go out, kind of like a candle after it’s gotten too low, you know? Uh – did your, um, mum tell you anything about it?”

Harry’s never one to bring up my mum, as I’m sure he understands very well just how hard it is to hear. He’s just as hesitant as Hermione is about it, though she’s more so, and Ron never brings it up, so the fact he is catches my attention. He’s honestly really trying to have a decent conversation here and help me figure this out, and I smile warmly at him as he looks quite a bit hesitant towards my reaction of his question. He looks relieved.

“No… I used to ask a lot when I was younger, but she always said that when I’m thirteen, then she’ll tell me everything. Her mum told her when she was thirteen, and so on for generations. I think it has something to do with our, well, healing thingy beginning to form or something, but I guess… I don’t think I’ll ever find out now, Harry…”

Both Harry and I remain silent as we both digest my realisation. I shake my head and then continue placing my books away, but Harry’s still stood in place looking to the ground, seemingly deep in thought. After placing the last book away, I move back over to him, take the remainder from his hands and shake his shoulder a little.

“You all right, Harry?”

“Yeah,” he stammers after coming out of thought again. “I was just – I’m really sorry about all this.”

“It’s okay – nothing was your fault. It isn’t as though you were the one who hid everything from me after all. Don’t worry about it, okay? And don’t worry about me, either. We’ve got exams coming up quickly and you need to be focusing on that, not me and my problems.”

“We’re friends, Y/N, and it’s our job to worry for you when you’re upset. Don’t think like you’ll never find out, because who knows? There could be someone out there who has the answers you’re looking for about your family, right? You bring up old family friends a lot from other parts of the world.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I don’t think I’m going to find what I’m looking for in any book – or at least any book in this library. Maybe during the summer I can look around my house a little and try and find something more, or perhaps I can ask Connie if she knows anything about my mother and how the Amethysts work… Thanks, Harry, I actually feel much better with your saying that,” I smile out happily.

Truth is, I’ve checked every inch of my house, and Connie swears up and down she doesn’t know anything… those friends from different places are just that, family friends, and if I, someone _with_ said blood flowing through my veins doesn’t know about it, then what hope do I have that any of them would know anything? Harry seems convinced in my mood switch though, and for the sake of not worrying he or the others further, I’ll stay quiet about it from now on.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

The days crept by quickly as exams approached and proceeded, and so did the days that Fluffy could still be heard behind the door meaning that Snape hadn’t yet gotten his hands on the Stone, though even though I’ve been, and the others have been, keeping an eye on the dog’s guarding continuity, I’ve been trying to let the Stone and what’s revolving around it rid itself from my head. What good has it done us so far, after all? None. I’ve just got to trust that Dumbledore will figure out what the greasy, long-legged, hooked-nosed man is truly up to in time.

The exams’ written portions had been terrible to endure, not because of the work itself, but because of all the bodies piled into the one room making it immensely hot, which irritated me to no end through out the entirety of them.

Our practical exams were much different, though not quite as satisfying as writing against parchment, which I’ve always found myself enjoying a little too much for a child of eleven. The practical sessions were interesting though nonetheless.

Professor Flitwick had us charm a pineapple to tap-dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall had us transfigure a mouse into a snuff-box, to which I made mine ornate for the extra points given for their prettiness. Snape breathed down all our necks while we cooked up a Forgetfulness Potion.

I noticed a little ways through the exam period that Harry was becoming increasingly more tired as though he hasn’t been sleeping properly. Neville told me he’d been up through multiple nights and he thought it was all nerves revolving the exams, but with a good long chat about letting me help him as he helped me, Harry revealed he’s been having terrible nightmares and that his scar has been somewhat hurting him since our trip into the Forbidden Forest.

“You need to try and get some proper sleep, harry,” I’d told him. “I know it’s hard, especially as what you’re dreaming is horrible, but it’ll do you no good keeping yourself awake at night to avoid them, you know that. It isn’t healthy.”

“I wouldn’t care so much if it wasn’t him, Y/N, but it is – You don’t know what it’s like to see him in my sleep every night,” he’d replied sadly.

“I know,” I said slowly. “I know, Harry… it’s all horrible, and I understand that, and I may not see him in the night, but I do know what its like to try and fight sleeping to escape the places our brains take us… I’m going to make you something, alright? Can you promise me you’ll try it just for the rest of exams?”

He’d agreed after I’d showed him the Sleeping Draught I used to make for my mum when she’d needed it, not that I told him what I’d made it for when I was younger, I stayed as vague as possible about it, but I was so happy when he’d agreed to trying it, and the day after trying it the first time, he already seemed much better than what he’d been before.

I let my worry for him simmer down, but made sure not to let on that it was still effecting me on top of wondering profusely about why my eyes had done what they had, and after days of working hard and hours of sitting bent over a parchment or cauldron, we finally finished up our final exam, which was History of Magic, and with a loud cheer from the entirety of our year, we were done.

“That was far easier than I thought it would be,” says Hermione as we make our way with the other students outside into the sun, finally rid of the exam anxiety and looming pressure. “I needn’t have learnt about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager.”

“I told you, you wouldn’t,” I tease her, and she shoves me playfully with a happy laugh.

We walk until we come across a wide tree by the Black Lake that’s casting plenty of shade to shield us from the hot sun. A little bit closer to the shore is Ron’s mischievous brothers and Lee Jordan messing about with the giant squid that’s resting in the shallows. We each drop ourselves to the grassy ground with pleased sighs and take in the pleasantness of our surroundings.

“No more revision,” Ron sighs happily with his eyes closed, small sun-spots brushing his cheeks where the sun’s managing to creep slightly through the canopy of large, freshly-sprouted leaves. “You could look more cheerful, Harry, we’ve got a week before we find out how badly we’ve done, there’s no need to worry yet.”

I’m about to retort reminding Ron that his exclamation about no more revision applies solely to this year and that there’s not much more of said year left now, but his calling out Harry’s mood shifts my attention from him and to the boy with glasses, and Ron’s right, he does look troubled again, and I’m fairly certain I know why.

“I wish I knew what this _means_!” he bursts finally after rubbing at his forehead forcefully. “My scar keeps hurting – it’s happened before, but never as often as this.”

“Go to Madam Pomfrey,” suggests Hermione.

“I don’t think that’ll work, Mione,” I mutter, keeping a close eye on Harry.

“I’m not ill,” he speaks quickly. “I think it’s a warning… it means danger’s coming…”

“Harry, relax, Hermione’s right, the Stone’s safe as long as Dumbledore’s around. Anyway, we’ve never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he’s not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down.”

Harry leaves it be with a nod, but doesn’t at all look completely convinced, and I think I’m beginning to feel the same way. There has to be a reason that his scar is acting the way it is, and it has to have something to do with the Stone. What else?

“I just feel like there’s something I’ve forgotten…”

“That’s just the exams. I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we’d already done that one,” says Hermione.

Harry nods again, but the thoughts swirling around his eyes suggests he’s far from sure its got anything to do with exams, and it has me thinking as well. There’s got to be something we’re missing here if he’s feeling like this, right? Something that’s hidden right under our noses… Maybe we’d have a better chance of understanding it all if we hadn’t had to deal with Hagrid’s dragon, but-

“Harry!” I exclaim, and it looks like he’s almost caught onto my thought as soon as I’ve voiced them. He looks to me quickly and I tell him what I’ve just realised. “How convenient it must be to come across a dragon breeder here where having them is illegal,” I say slowly. His eyes widen and I suppose I’ve just handed him the small fragment he was missing within his own theories he’s conjuring up in that head of his.

“You’re brilliant!” he calls before jumping too his feet, which startles Ron and Mione from their heat-induced rest causing both to jump. I jump up too and follow after him.

“Where are you going?” Ron questions from where his is still on the ground.

“I’ve just thought of something, and Y/N’s helped me realise that – we’ve got to go and see Hagrid, now.”

“Why?” Pants Mione as she’s trying to keep our pace.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd,” says Harry, "that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it’s against wizard law?”

“It’s awfully lucky they found Hagrid, don’t you think?” I continue on. “Seems awfully convenient to find someone willing to take such a thing. Why didn’t we see this before?”

“What are you two on about?” Ron asks, but Harry nor I answer as we take to sprinting towards Hagrid’s hut instead, and sitting outside of the hut is Hagrid himself, shelling peas into a huge bowl.

“Hullo,” he greets us as we clamber towards him. “Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?”

“Yes, please,” begs Ron as he huffs and puffs relentlessly.

“No, we’re in a hurry. Hagrid, I’ve got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?” asks Harry quickly.

“Dunno,” Hagrid replies, “he wouldn’ take his cloak off.” As he gauges our reaction to his answer, he quickly tries to defend it. “It’s not that unusual, yeh get a lot o’ funny folk in the Hog’s Head – that’s one of the pubs down at the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn’ he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up.”

“What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?” I question the large man.

“Mighta come up,” he frowns in thought. “Yeah… he asked what I did, an’ I told him I was gamekeeper here… He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after… so I told him… an’ I said what I’d always really wanted was a dragon… an’ then… I can’ remember too well, ‘cause he kept buyin’ me drinks… Let’s see… yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an’ we could play cards fer it if I wanted… but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn’ want it ter go ter any old home… So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy…”

I gasp and smile brightly realising we’ve just filled in a lot of the missing blanks we’ve been stumbling around. No doubt he accidentally let slip how to get past Fluffy whilst drunk, right? He looks at me strangely, as does Ron, before Harry questions Hagrid again.

“And did he – did he seem interested in Fluffy?”

“Well – yeah – how many three-headed dogs d’yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy’s a piece o’ cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus’ play him a bit o’ music an’ he’ll go straight off ter sleep-” He suddenly cuts himself off with a horrified look. “I shouldn’ta told yeh that! Forget I said it! Hey – where’re yeh goin’?”

We don’t answer, we’ve all jumped up understanding the dire situation at hand fully, and have begun sprinting our way back up to the castle. None of us speak a word, our heads all filled with thoughts, until we finally come to rest back within the Entrance Hall.

“We’ve got to go to Dumbledore. Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak – it must’ve been easy, once he’d got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn’t stop him. Where’s Dumbledore’s office?” Harry says all at once.

“I’m not sure,” I answer. “We’ll just have to-” I’m, however, cut off by Professor McGonagall’s voice floating through the room.

“What are you four doing inside?” She’s carrying a large pile of books with her as she walks towards us, her eyebrows furrowed.

“We want to see Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione informs her, and I smile at her forwardness towards one of her professors. She has most certainly changed since our year began.

“See Professor Dumbledore?” she asks perplexed. “Why?”

No one answers this time, until Harry finally draws up the courage, “It’s sort of a secret.” His answer, however, only causes Professor McGonagall to turn and angry eye on us, her expression reading annoyance. She answers anyway, though.

“Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago and flew off to London.”

“He’s gone?” Harry calls alarmed. “ _Now_?”

“Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time-”

“But this is important!” I cry out.

“Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Amethyst?”

“Look,” Harry goes, obviously deciding on telling her _what_ is so important, “Professor – it’s about the Philosopher’s Stone-”

Professor McGonagall’s expression changes immediately o a mix of shock and fury, and the books she’s been carrying all tumble to the floor. She doesn’t make an effort to collect them as she’s still staring at us completely bewildered. “How do you know-”

“Professor, I think – I know – that Sn- that someone’s going to try and steal the Stone. I’ve got to talk to Professor Dumbledore.”

She eyes us all keenly, suspiciously, but I can tell that right now, whether she wanted to comply with us or not, there isn’t much she can do. “Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow. I don’t know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it’s too well protected.”

“But, Professor-”

“Potter, I know what I’m talking about,” she answers as she bends down to collect the fallen books finally, and I kneel down to take a few as well. “I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine. Thank you, Miss Amethyst.”

I give her a small smile as she walks away, and as soon as she’s out of earshot, Harry speaks up again.

“It’s tonight. Snape’s going through the trapdoor tonight. He’s found out everything he needs and now he’s got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note, bet the Ministry or Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up.”

“But what can we-” I begin, but Hermione’s sudden gasp throws me off, and I, as well as the boys, spin around to find Snape glaring down at us coldly.

“Good afternoon,” he drawls. “You shouldn’t be inside on a day like this.” He’s wearing an odd sort of smile than makes me quite uneasy.

“We were-” Harry tries, but he seems to be coming up blank. “Just on our way out,” I finish for him, and he smiles slightly. “Just had to come back for something I left in the library is all.”

He looks down at us, but I can tell he’s unbelieving. “Be warned, Potter, Amethyst – any more night-time wandering and I will personally make sure you are both expelled. Good day to you.”

Snape strolls away with his too-good-to-be-here attitude following behind, and I huff at him. Once he’s left, just as McGonagall had, Harry turns back to us and starts talking again.

“Right, here’s what we’ve got to do. One of us has to keep an eye on Snape – wait outside the staff room and follow him if he leaves it. Hermione, you’d better do that.”

“Why me?”

“It’s obvious,” Ron answers, and sadly, I agree with him. I’m a sucker for school work, but I’m less likely to follow a teacher around asking questions about the course work. “You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick, you know.” He then puts on a high voice pretending to imitate Mione. “Oh, professor Flitwick, I’m so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong…”

“Oh, shut up,” Mione huffs, and I laugh. “Fine then.” And she’s off to do her part. I turn back to the boys.

“And we’d better stay outside the third-floor corridor,” Harry tells us. “Come on.”

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

_Words~ 4,016_


	17. ~16 - To Find The Stone of Life~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the quartet to set off to find the Philosopher's Stone. They'll face many trials throughout, but they're sure to overcome it. They've got to. The world might b depending on it.

“I suppose you think you’re harder to get past than a pack of enchantments!” Professor McGonagall’s voice echoes around us as she approaches us briskly. I hadn’t thought she’d come through here, but I suppose with what we just told her in the Entrance Hall she was likely to make a pass by the door. I look down submissively when she is upon us. “Enough of this nonsense! If I hear you’ve come anywhere near here again, I’ll take another fifty points from Gryffindor! Yes, Weasley, from my own house!”

The boys and I scuttle away from McGonagall as soon as she’s done reprimanding us, and I can feel my heart beating wildly in my chest. I’ve never thought terribly of her, nor will I likely ever, but for her to not treat this as seriously as it is, is astonishing! How can she not be heeding this more? Surely she understand the danger the wizarding world is in if Snape gets his greasy hands on the Stone.

“At least Hermione’s on Snape’s tail,” Ron comments defeated as we’re sit back in the Common Room. I’m about to agree before suddenly the Fat Lady’s portrait is swinging open to reveal a dishevelled Mione bursting through and exclaiming loudly.

“I’m sorry, Harry! Snape came out and asked what I was doing, so I said I was waiting for Professor Flitwick, and Snape went to get him and I’ve only just gotten away. I don’t know where Snape went.”

“Well, that’s it then, isn’t it?” sighs Harry. The three of us watch him sadly, though he’s looking as though he hasn’t yet given up all hope. “I’m going out of here tonight and I’m going to try and get to the Stone first.”

“I’m coming with you, then,” I declare, and Ron looks horrified.

“You two are mad!” he exclaims.

“You can’t!” adds Mione. “After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You’ll both be expelled!”

“SO WHAT?” shouts Harry, his outburst frightening me briefly. “Don’t you understand? If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort’s coming back! Haven’t you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There wont be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He’ll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn’t matter anymore, can’t you see? D’you think he’ll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor win the house cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I’ll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there. It’s only dying a bit later than I would have done, because I’m never going over to the Dark Side! I’m going through that trapdoor tonight, and nothing you two say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?”

There’s a heavy silence wafting through the empty-bar-us Common Room that’s settling terribly with everyone. I think they’ve got the point now.

“I’ll follow you through this, Harry. You won’t be doing it alone,” I tell him with a serious gaze. “I’ll follow you.”

Harry gives me a kind and appreciative smile to which I return, before Hermione is speaking up.

“You’re right, Harry…”

“I’ll use the invisibility cloak,” Harry says next. “It’s just lucky I got it back.”

“But will it cover all four of us?” Ron asks.

“All – all four of us?” Harry reiterates confused.

“Don’t worry, I’ll use the Disillusionment Charm. I’ve gotten to be pretty good at it by now,” I tell, and both nod, Harry still looks confused.

“Oh, come off it, you don’t think we’d let you go along?” Ron says.

“Of course not,” Hermione backs him up quickly. “How do you think you’d get to the Stone without us? I’d better go and look through some books, there might be something useful…”

“But if we get caught, you lot will get expelled, too,” Harry reminds.

“Not if I can help it,” says Mione. “Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve per cent on his exam. They’re not throwing me out after that.”

“As for me,” I add on, “it is only a matter of time at this stage. Snape’s been trying to get me out since the year began,” I laugh.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

It’s after dinner that we’re all sat quietly in the Common Room. Harry and Mione are sat nervously, and I’m playing a slow game of Wizard Chess with Ron to pass the time. Time, however, seems to be drawing on and on, and everyone, seeing as exams are done, seems to have decided to stick around in here with us, while ignoring us at the same time, to chat with their friends about how they think they’ve done, and what they reckon they’ve messed up on. Mione is skimming through her notes, and Harry seems to be sat still in thought.

Eventually, after many hours of Ron and I playing different chess games, he and I drawing by the end with wins and losses, and Hermione and Harry sometimes chatting idly when they aren’t either thinking or revising, the room finally falls empty as the last few people finally drain out and head off to bed leaving us all free to do as we wish.

“Better get the cloak,” Ron mutters after Lee’s finally left. Not a minutes after the suggestion, Harry’s rushed to their dorm room and back, and now he’s holding his cloak tightly in his hands in anxious preparation to what we’re about to do.

“You’d better try the cloak on in here and make sure it covers all three of you,” I tell them, and they each nod before slipping under the fabric. I wander around them making sure there isn’t a foot or an arm visible, and thankfully, they’re good to go.

“What are you doing?” a voice suddenly questions, and although I recognise the voice, my heart is still hammering with fear of the boy who's likely not going to us go through with this. It’s Neville Longbottom, come to make sure we aren’t about to break any more rules.

“Nothing, Neville, nothing,” says Harry hurriedly.

“You’re going out again,” he accuses rightfully.

“No, no, no,” Hermione defends. “No, we’re not. Why don’t you go to bed, Neville?”

“You can’t go out,” Neville practically pleads, his eyes landing on me. “You’ll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble.”

“Neville, please listen to me for a moment,” I try. “This is very important, and we need you to step aside.” He looks saddened by having to tell us no again, but he does anyhow.

“I won’t let you do it,” he says shakily as he rushes to block off the portrait hole. “I’ll – I’ll fight you!”

“ _Neville_ ,” Ron yells very loudly, “get away from that hole and don’t be an idiot!-”

“Don’t you call me an idiot!” Neville defends himself. “I don’t think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!”

“Yes, but not us,” Ron sighs exasperatedly. “Neville, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Ron takes a tentative step towards Neville, and the latter of two boys drops Trevor, his toad, who’s quick to leap away. Neville has his fists raised, but his entire form is shaking. It pains him to do this, I can tell, but we’ve gotta get through that trapdoor tonight. Lives could very well depend on it.

“Go on then, try and hit me!” Neville shouts with a quiver. “I’m ready!”

“Neville, I am really, really sorry about this,” I hear Hermione say as she’s stepping forward, and I’m tempted to hold her back for Neville’s sake, but I know we need to get out of here as fast as we can or we’ll be too late.

“We need to go, Neville. I’m sorry,” I mutter to the boy as well.

“ _Petrificus Totalus!”_ Mione cries, her wand pointed at the poor boy, and instantly, his entire body freezes, and he’s falling face-first to the floor. With a slight bang, he hits the ground, and I mutter another sorry before stepping over him and moving towards the portrait.

“What’ve you done to him?” Harry whispers in wonderment.

“She cast a full-body bind on him. He’s not hurt… he’ll be fine. Oh, forgive us, Neville, we truly are sorry,” I answer.

“We are,” Hermione says to his ridgid form as well. “Very much so.” 

“We had to, Neville, no time to explain,” Harry informs the boy.

“You’ll understand later, Neville,” says Ron.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I all slip to the portrait, and I take my wand out and cast the Disillusionment Charm over myself once again.

“Bloody hell!” Ron squeaks. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“A story for another time, I think, Ron. Come on, let’s get going.”

It’s after long minutes of creeping through the darkened corridors, which seems to have become somewhat of a commodity between Harry and I this year, that we finally meet the door Fluffy’s behind in the third-floor corridor. Sadly, when we’re close enough to see it properly, we can notice that the door is already ajar.

“Well, there you are,” Harry says in a low whisper. “Snape’s already got past Fluffy.” We creep closer still and I push the door open a little wider, though not quite enough to see through, but pull back when Harry’s tugging at my arm. “If you three want to go back, I won’t blame you. You can all take the cloak, I won’t need it now.”

“Don’t be stupid,” answers Ron.

“What did I tell you, Harry? Said I’d follow you. I meant that, you know?” I say.

“We’re coming,” concludes Hermione. 

I move forward again after he’s given his nod and push the door open to peer in properly. Stood in the room is Fluffy, as usual, letting off low, rumbling growls as he sniffs about. He can’t see us through the cloak and charm.

“What’s that at it’s feet?” whispers Hermione.

“Looks like a harp,” Ron answers. “Snape must have left it there.”

“It must wake up the moment you stop playing,” suggests Harry. “Does anyone know how to play that thing?”

Both of the boys look to me as they remember me playing the violin during Christmas, but I shake my head sorrowfully. They look downcast for a moment until I’ve thought of something else, and I inch forward and begin to voice an old [Spanish lullaby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cOZe5SenTtw) my mother used to sing to me when I was very young.

“I might have an idea… if I can remember the words properly –

“ _Viento a viento va, el sue_ _ñ_ _o del mar, gira sin parar,_

 _Viento a viento va, durmiendo el sol,_ _un gui_ _ño de luz se perdió,”_

The dog calms at the sound of the lullaby, and I sigh a little within the lyrics as my heart stops racing so incredibly hard and fast. I look to the three now not so hidden beneath the cloak and smile at their smiles. I then gesture towards the trapdoor as the dog’s eyes finally droop closed again, but I don’t stop the song as I fear he’ll wake right back up again.

“ _Tu cuerpo se hace vientre, estatuá transparente, en la arena oscura esperarás.”_

“I think we’ll be able to pull the door open,” I hear Ron saying as he’s peering over the dog’s back. “Want to go first, Hermione?”

“No, I don’t!”

“ _Viento a viento va, bailando el mar, ésta sola vos quebró,_

_Pájaros de sal, ciegos de llorar, vuelven a volar.”_

“All right,” Ron bickers back before climbing over dog and swinging open the trapdoor.

“What can you see?” asks Hermione anxiously.

“Nothing – just black – there’s no way of climbing down, we’ll just have to drop,” Ron whisper-shouts back to her.

“I’ll go first,” Harry volunteers, and both Ron and Mione look unsure.

“ _Viento a viento va, éste pequeño, temblor que jamás gritó,_

_A la luz, al árbol, a la lluvia,_

_A la voz, al aire, al final.”_

Harry climbs around the dog next, and keeping to the lullaby, I follow with Hermione until all four of us are stood around the trapdoor looking into the inky blackness cascading like a waterfall below us. There’s no light nor any other sort of indication that says it’ll be a safe landing, but what other choice do we have? I’d go first if I wasn’t the one keeping the dog asleep.

Harry bends down and lowers himself into the hole until he’s barely holding on, and then he looks up to us and says, “If anything happens to me, don’t follow. Go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, right?”

I’d give him a piece of my mind if I weren’t still keeping us from becoming Fluffy’s next meal.

“Right,” says Ron.

“See you in a minute I hope.” And then he’s gone, gone from sight into the depths of darkness, and instantly my anxiety piques and my heart rate picks up. Hermione gasps and looks at me.

“Y/N, your eyes!” I can’t say anything in response, but I realise they must be glowing again just as Harry and Malfoy said they once had before.

“It’s okay!” I suddenly hear from down the trapdoor, and my heart rate lowers dramatically, and Hermione and Ron are both looking at me strangely.

“It’s going away, now,” Ron breathes. “What was that?’

I don’t answer, I keep singing and gesture towards the hole. The song will be coming to an end soon enough and we’ve all gotta get down there.

“Y/N’s right, we’ve gotta go. You next, Ron.”

Ron’s next to go, as Hermione suggested, and she’s soon to follow.

“ _Y así este viento va girando, y así este viento va, se fue,_

_Y así este niño va, llorando,_

_Llorando~”_

Just as the final lyric is sung and the room’s silent, each of my friends having gone down the hole, the dog begins to stir, and just as the echo comes to a complete stop, I jump as well into the unknown depths of darkness awaiting.

As I make contact with the ground, which is strangely soft, I notice both boys are entangled in an amalgam of tendrils and vines, each a deep, dark shade of green and dreadful. My eyes widen as I look around for Hermione, and I let myself relax again when I finally see her on the outskirts of the gigantic plant up against the wall.

Ron and Harry are both bound still within the plant’s tendril clutches, and Ron’s looking more and more panicked by the second. His eyes are wide, and his face is pale. He even looks as though he might throw up. Harry looks just as worried as me, but regardless of the fact that he, too, is held in place by the plant, he doesn’t look as terrified as Ron.

I try to move from my place, but the vines of the plant are quicker and stronger than I. There’s no room to move, and one of the tendrils are squeezing at my wrist particularly roughly. As it tightens evermore, I begin to panic and try tearing my hurting arm from it’s grasp, yet this does nothing more than cause the plant to tighten it’s grip further. It’s with a sharp cry when I hear a muffled and slight crack, as well as as an immense pain shooting the length of my forearm, that I realise it might have just sprained my wrist.

“Y/N!” Ron cries out. “It’s killed her!”

“I’m fine! For now – help me! Ouch!” I cry out again as it grips tighter around my hurt wrist.

Both boys squirm a little harder, as do I, when Mione’s voice snaps us from our struggling.

“Stop moving!” she shrieks. “I know what this is – it’s Devil’s Snare!” I pause completely now letting the blind panic dissipate and try to relax my body so the plant won’t fight so harshly against me. It works a little, as it’s released my throbbing wrist, but it still doesn’t let go.

“Oh, I’m so glad we know what it’s called, that’s a great help,” growls Ron as the plant curls around his neck.

“Shut up, I’m trying to remember how to kill it!” Hermione barks. I am too, but Herbology, though interesting, could be one of my worse subjects. There are so many plants to remember I’ll sometimes get them a little muddled at times. I wish Neville were here, as he’s excellent at Herbology, and he’d have us out of here in no time!

“Well, hurry up, I can’t breathe!” yells Harry as best he can.

“Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare… What did Professor Sprout say? It likes the dark and the damp…” she thinks.

“So light a fire!” Harry chokes.

“It’s deadly fun, but will sulk in the sun! You’ve got it, Hermione! Now do something!” I shout.

“Yes – of course – but there’s no wood!” Mione panics.

“HAVE YOU GONE MAD? ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?” Ron bellows at her.

“Oh, right!” she replies before taking her wand and casting a huge stream of blue flames that singe the plant and cause it to shy away from the heat and light, releasing the three us us onto the damp, cement floor.

The boys and I make our way to Mione, me holding my wrist a little funny at my side, but I try not to let it draw attention to me. I’ll be fine, but we need to keep going if we want to catch Snape in time, and if they’re worrying about me, we’ll miss our chance.

“Lucky Hermione pays attention in Herbology,” Harry says once we’re all together again, and I take Hermione’s shaking hand in my good one to comfort her as she’s trembling terribly.

“Yeah,” agrees Ron, “and lucky Harry doesn’t lose his head in a crisis - ‘there’s no wood’, _honestly_.”

“This way,” steers Harry, taking us deeper into the lair of the Philosopher’s Stone’s hiding place.

The walls are damp and dark, reminiscent to the floor of the Devil’s Snare room, and glistening with some sort of slimy dew. I shudder when I accidentally brush my hand against it, both because of the wetness and because it’s my bad hand. The floors are made up of loose and rough cobble and cement, and the place is dimply lit with candles of all varying sizes.

“Can you hear something?” Ron suddenly asks, and so I strain to hear what he’s heard. Sure enough I can just make out a very consistent fluttering noise, as if someone is ruffling the pages to a large book, or perhaps a hundred birds are fluttering past. “Do you think it’s a ghost?”

“I don’t know… sounds like wings to me,” says Harry.

“There’s light ahead – I can see something moving,” says Mione.

As we come to the end of the corridor, we find ourselves in a chamber dimly lit by candle light with a brilliant, arched, stone ceiling extending high above us, and fluttering around just below said ceiling is, indeed, many, many small bird-looking creatures. On the opposing wall to the side we’ve just entered through, there’s a large oak door closed shut, and to the room's west wall, there are broom sticks planted against the stone.

“Do you think they’ll attack us if we cross the room?” asks Ron.

“Probably,” answers Harry. “They don’t look very vicious, but I suppose if they all swooped down at once… Well, there’s nothing for it… I’ll run.”

The birds don’t swoop at Harry as he sprints across the room, however; they don’t pay him any mind at all, and it confuses us all. They must be one of the barriers we’re to cross to find the Stone, so what is it they do? Maybe …

Ron and Hermione join Harry at the door where they’re trying to open it, but I let myself remain in the centre of the room looking up at the birds and watching them glitter in the light. This is my first indicator that whatever they are, birds aren’t it, as birds don’t glitter, my second is the way their shaped. They don’t look like any bird, magical or no, that I’ve ever seen before… and that’s because they aren’t.

“Now what?” asks Ron after they’ve given up forcing the door open.

“These birds… they can’t just be for decoration,” says Hermione.

“That’s because they _aren’t_!” I call, and they each look at me. “Look closely. Look at the way they’re shaped – and there! You see that? They aren’t _birds_ – birds don’t glitter like that. they’re _keys_! This must be Professor Flitwick’s doing. He’s charmed the keys to sprout wings, and I bet anything that one of them is for that door,” I finish.

“But there’s hundreds of them!” groans Ron.

"Well good thing we’ve got Gryffindor’s Seeker with us! Look over there! Broomsticks! I saw them when we came in,” says I.

“Good job, Y/N!” Harry says, and I smile happily at him and the others. “We’re looking for a big, old-fashioned one – probably silver, like the handle.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione each get on a broom, but I tell them I’d much rather wait on the ground this time, as having all of us in the air would be catastrophic, and they agree, though I’m mostly worried about the fact I don’t think I could hold into the broom with my bad wrist. I’m starting to feel where it’s swelling terribly now. I’m very glad the sleeves of my robe are long enough to cover it all up.

The three in the air zoom about looking for the right key, and after a little while they seem to spot it. It is indeed old-fashioned and silver like the handle, and what gives it away secondly is the fact that it’s feathers look much more ruffled than the rest indicating it’s already been caught once before.

It doesn’t take them all too long to get a system going for it. Hermione and Ron are herding them in their chosen directions, and Harry’s chasing after the one we need, and after no time at all, he’s crushed it with his hand up against the wall. I grimace at the crunch it makes. They all land and rush to the door where I’m stood, and then Harry’s jamming the key in and opening it up. We’re through to the next challenge.

The next chamber we find ourselves in is very dark and gloomy, and I can just make out odd shapes littering the large room, though I can’t see enough to make out what they are. Suddenly, a light erupts and sweeps across the room, and the shapes I saw reveal themselves to be huge chess pieces. We’re stood on the outskirts of a gigantic chess board.

“Now what do we do?” Harry whispers.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Ron remarks. “We’ve got to play our way across the room.” He looks across the other side of the room after finishing, and just as his suggestion would imply, sitting behind the huge, white chess pieces stands another door.

“How?” Mione asks nervously, and I take her hand once again.

“I think we’re going to have to be chess men,” Ron swallows. He walks over to one of the pieces and asks him. “Do we – er – have to join you to get across?” The piece nods, and I sigh.

“This wants thinking about…” Ron says. “I suppose we’ve got to take the place of four of the black pieces…” We all remain quiet as he thinks. “Now, don’t get offended or anything, but neither of you are that good at chess-” he gestures to Harry and Mione.

“We’re not offended,” says Harry quickly. “Just tell us what to do?”

“Y/N,” he says to me, “you’re pretty good at it, what do you think?”

“I think that although we both play well, we both use different strategies to play, and to mix those strategies now mightn’t be a good idea. I play in offence when I do, and you’re better at sneaky defence… I reckon this should be up to you, Ron.”

“Well, Harry, you take the place of that bishop, and Hermione, you go there instead of that castle. Y/N, I think you should take the king’s place, ‘cause I don’t use him much.” I nod and we all get into our places.

“What about you?”

“I’m going to be a knight,” answers Ron.

Ron, true to his word, takes the knight’s place, and so the game begins.

White moves first, as they always so. A white pawn moves forward two spaces, and Ron begins directing the black pieces around calculatedly. Piece after piece is struck down by the others, and after a little while of this, it’s finally time for Ron to have to move one of us onto the board into play.

“Harry – move diagonally four squares to the right.” And Harry listens. He moves as Ron’s directed, and after he does, the white queen moves forward and takes out our first knight with a vicious crash of violent movements, then she drags him off to the side where he know lays face down without moving. “Had to let that happen,” Ron informs. “Leaves you free to take that bishop, Hermione, go on.”

The game continues on with the smashing and cruel bashing of different shaded pieces, the pieces that have all gotten out lay motionless on the sidelines, and with the number of players dwindling, my heart rate is spiking slightly. There is two occasions when Ron only just notices that Harry, Hermione, or I are in trouble, and so he sprints across the board himself taking those pieces out to the best of his abilities. He is truly a brilliant player, and not at all as clueless as he’ll sometimes let on. He’s brilliant, Ron Weasley.

“We’re nearly there,” he breathes after a long while of back and forth moves. “let me think – let me think…” He’s still and staring about the board calculating his next few moves and countermoves he might need to save us and himself, and then suddenly his eyes light up, and a brave grimace is spreading across his face. I follow his gaze and think about his coming play, until I realise what he’s thinking.

“Ronald Weasley, don’t you dare,” I growl, but he doesn’t listen. "There’s got to be another way, you can find a different way.”

“It’s the only way… I’ve got to be taken.”

Both Harry and Hermione who were looking confused as to what we were on about suddenly realise, and they both pale. They both in union shout a loud ‘NO!’, but again, Ron’s made up his mind.

“That’s chess!” he exclaims with a snap. “You’ve got to make some sacrifices! I’ll make my move and she’ll take me – that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!”

“But-”

“Do you want to stop Snape, or not?”

“Ron-”

“Look, if you don’t hurry up, he’ll already have the Stone!”

I speak up now. “I’ve looked around, and I can’t see anything else either… the only way we’re going to win this is with Ron’s play…” I enlighten sadly. Both Harry and Hermione look just as sad as I.

“Ready?” Ron calls, his face stoic and brave, pale and determined. “Here I go – now, don’t hang around once you’ve won!”

I throw my hands up to cover my eyes as he begins to move. I don’t want to watch him get hurt. I hear Mione let off a loud scream after a few moments, and my eyes jump open on instinct to witness the white queen dragging Ron’s unconscious body towards the rest of our downed pieces. He’s got a small mark on his head where he’s evidently been hit by the queen, and I take in a shaky breath as I watch Harry take his final, hesitant steps, and then he’s checkmating the white king, and the game is over.

The three of us rush over to Ron, and I kneel down and place the back of my hand just in front of his nose.

“He’s still breathing, he’s just unconscious,” I tell the two others. They nod, and I move Ron into a more comfortable position and then stand again.

“What do you reckon’s next?” asks Harry, looking down to Ron, eyes full of worry.

“We’ve had Sprout’s,” Informs Hermione, “that was the Devil’s Snare – and like Y/N said, Flitwick must have charmed the keys – McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive – that leaves Quirrell’s spell, and Snape’s…”

“All right?” Harry whispers. We’ve reached the next door.

“Go on,” Mione ushers.

Harry pushes the door open and we’re met with the sight and smell of a humongous troll, knocked unconscious with a large lump on it’s head and blood oozing from the impact area. I pull my good arm up and hold it over my nose, as the smell is absolutely terrible.

“I’m glad we didn’t have to fight that one,” Harry whispers to us as we move through to the next room. “Come on, I can’t breathe.”

The room after lays before us, but there’s nothing frightening about it. There aren’t any huge, man-crushing plants, or hundreds of keys with pointy ends waiting to jab us, or any transfigured chess men nor trolls, there’s simply a table sat in the middle of the room covered with several bottles, and another door on the other side of it.

“Snape’s,” says Harry, and Hermione and I nod in agreement. “What do we have to do?”

As soon as we pass through the doorway completely, the way back suddenly comes alight, a fire burning with tendrils of purple flames climbing within the door frame we’ve just past through rendering the way back a no-go, and within the doorway in front of us there are a bout of beautiful black frames blocking off that way as well.

“Well, looks like we’re stuck in here until we can figure this one out, come on.”

I move forward first and seize the piece of parchment sitting atop the table beside the varying bottles of something or other. Harry and Hermione both read over my shoulder. I decide to read it aloud instead as to stop them from pushing to get a look. I move away from them and shake my head with a laugh, both look like subtly scolded children.

“ _Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

_Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

_One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

_Two among our number hold nettle wine,_

_Three of us a killers, waiting hidden in line._

“ _Choose, unless you wish to stay here forever more,_

_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

“ _First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

_You will always find some on nettle wine’s left side;_

_Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

_But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;_

_Third, as you see clearly, all re different size,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

_Fourth, the second left and the second to the rightful_

_Are twins once you taste the, though different_

_at first sight.”_

“ _Brilliant_!” cries Hermione with a smile once I’m finished. “This isn’t magic – it’s logic – a puzzle. A lot of great wizards haven’t got an ounce of logic, they’d be stuck in here for ever.”

“But so will we, won’t we?” says Harry, slightly confused, either by Mione’s joy or the riddle, still remains unknown.

“Of course not,” I tell him. “Everything we need is here on this perchment. Seven bottles, three are poison, two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire and one will get us back through the purple.”

“But how will we know which to drink?”

“Give us a minute,” Hermione asks.

After a few moments of looking over the potions and deducing which will do which, Hermione and I share a look, and then a nod, and we turn back to Harry.

“It’s the little blue bottle that will get us forward,” Hermione tells Harry.

“How can you tell that?” he replies. Hermione looks as though she’d rather I explain, but she proceeds to do so anyway.

“Okay, so firstly we’re given the clue about paring the poison with the nettle wine, and with this information, we can safely say for every bottle of wine there will be one of poison on it’s left, so now we know that the bottle on the far left can’t contain wine, as there’s no space for the poison as we’re promised, so now let’s talk about bottles two and six. They’ve got to be the same, as it’s stated, which means that neither are the one to go forward or back. So know we safely know it isn’t bottle number one, two, or six, so we’re left with three, four, five, and seven…”

Hermione explain further as much as she can, me adding in my own bits and pieces as she goes, but by the time she's done, Harry still looks just as confused as he was before.

“Um, right – you two are brilliant, you know that?” he smiles not hiding the fact he’s no clue what we’ve just tried explaining.

“Thank you,” I smile moving forward and taking up the blue bottle and then taking up the purple one on the end. “The purple one is for getting back… There’s barely enough of the one to go forward for two people though, let alone three.”

“I’ll go back,” Hermione says after a moment of silence.

Harry nods and holds up the blue bottle as I hand the purple one to Mione.

“You get back and get Ron – grab brooms from the flying-key room, they’ll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy – go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him. We might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but we’re no match for him really.”

“Harry – what if You-Know-Who’s with him?”

“Well- I was lucky once, wasn’t I?” Harry comforts. “I might get lucky again.”

Hermione then looks as though she might cry before she dashes at us and latches onto Harry for a hug, and I smile happily. To think they were practically avoiding each other at the beginning of this year.

“ _Hermione_!” Harry yelps, and I laugh.

“Harry – you’re a great wizard, you know,” she tells him. My heart warms.

“I’m not as good as you,” Harry mutters back.

“Me! Books and cleverness! There are more important things – friendship and bravery and – oh Harry, Y/N,” she yelp before pulling _me_ into a bone crushing hug this time, “be _careful_!”

“We’ll be back before you know it, Mione, after I watch little old Harry here save the world and all. You go make sure Ron’s all right. I’d feel absolutely devastated if he wasn’t. You be careful, too, all right?” Mione nods and smiles brightly, her yes brimming with tears just as mine are.

“You drink first,” Harry tells her. “You are sure which is which, aren’t you?”

“We’re positive,” I confirm as Hermione tilts her head back and takes a swig of the potion. She grimaces slightly upon swallowing, but she’s completely fine, much to Harry’s obvious relief. I suppose he thought we could have got it wrong.

“It’s not poison?” asks Harry.

“No – but it’s like ice.”

“Quick, go, before it wears off,” I hurry her along.

“Good luck – take care-”

“GO!” Harry calls.

She turns and takes off through the purple flames, the licking fire doing nothing to harm her, and then she’s gone, back to take care of Ron and bring back Dumbledore. I hear Harry take a deep breath before handing the bottle back to me.

“You first,” he says. I simply nod, give him a reassuring smile, and then down half of the bottle’s contents. I hand it back to him and he repeats the process.

Hermione was right the potion is like swallowing ice. I can feel it still burning cold down my throat and swirling around in my stomach. For a moment I feel a little nauseous, but then I'm just fine, and it's time for Harry and I to go.

“Here we come,” he says as we move forward and walk through the flames just like Hermione had.

There’s no sensation of burning, but I can feel the flames trying to bite us as we walk through them, they just can’t manage it. There’s nothing to see but the dark, dark flames until finally we come out of them, my good hand wrapped around Harry’s wrist as to not get lost in the fire, and we take a look before us.

What we see on the other side, though, is not what, or more _who_ , we were expecting in the least. It isn’t Snape, no, it isn’t even Lord Voldemort. I gasp and drop my grip on Harry and stumble backwards to meet a wall, which I promptly smack my bad arm on and hiss in pain, Harry's meeting my eye with a questioning look after hearing it, but I simply shake my head, and we both turn our stares back on the person before us.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

_Words~ 6,078_


	18. ~17 - To Defeat A Two-Faced Man~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a surprise to both who they come across in the chamber of the Philosopher's Stone, but nonetheless, he fight as valiantly as they can to defeat the evil that threatens the wizarding world, and then they've some questions to ask.

I feel sick to my stomach as I watch the last man I’d ever guess to be behind this standing proudly before us both, his face a mix of pride and evil, as if he’s just concurred the world himself, and I half expect that if we can’t hold him back now before Dumbledore can get to us, then he very well just might.

It’s Quirrell.

“ _You_!” Harry gasps loudly, his confusion-laced words bringing a glinting grin to Quirrell’s face.

“Me,” the other confirms calmly, “I wondered whether I’d be meeting you here, Potter. You however, Miss Amethyst, I wasn’t expecting.”

“And whys that?” I ask bitterly.

“After what happened to your mother, I thought you’d stay as far away from all this as possible – yet here you are. What a strange girl. Are you not frightened? Scared that you might meet the same fate?”

I don’t answer him, I just let my eyes widen as I take in the information given. How could he know what happened to my mother… unless he had at least some form of connection to any of it.

“But I though – Snape-” Harry stutters out, mind drawing blanks as to how it’s even possible for Quirrell to be standing in the place we were so sure we’d find Snape standing.

“Severus?” Quirrell laughs aloud. He hasn’t stuttered once during this entire ordeal, which is very unlike the professor we’ve come to know around Hogwarts. Had he been acting the whole time? But the conflict with Snape, and the genuine fear he held, could he truly have faked it all? “Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn’t he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?”

Of course! Snape must have been his perfect cover up! But if it wasn’t Snape tampering with Harry’s broom during Quidditch… then does that mean…?

“But Snape tried to kill Harry!” I shout.

“No, no, no. I tried to kill him. You and your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as you were rushing past to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. You broke my eye contact with him. Another few seconds, Harry, and I’d have got you off that broom. I’d have managed it before then if Snape hadn’t been muttering a counter-curse, trying to save you.”

“To save him?”

“Snape was trying to _save_ me?”

“Of course,” Quirrell answers casually. “Why do you think he wanted to referee your next match? He was trying to make sure I didn’t do it again. Funny, really… he needn’t have bothered. I couldn’t do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor winning, he _did_ make himself unpopular… and what a waste of time, when after all that, I’m going to kill you tonight.”

I gasp as Quirrell snaps his fingers together causing charmed ropes to spring forward and rap themselves around us both. One of which glides around my sore wrist and coaxes a short yet loud yelp to erupt from my throat.

“Hurt yourself trying to help dear little Potter did you, Y/N? Oh, how that must run in your family,” he chuckles.

“Don’t you _dare_ mention my family!” I scream at him as I withhold tears from my pained hand. “Don’t you _dare_!” He simply chuckles some more, and while he does, I look to Harry to see he’s looking very confused as to what Quirrell could mean.

“You’re too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school at Halloween like that, for all I knew you’d seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone.”

“ _You_ let the troll in?” realises Harry.

“Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls – you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off – and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn’t even manage to bite Snape’s leg off properly.

“Now wait quietly, Potter, Amethyst. I need to examine this interesting mirror.”

It’s only now I notice the Mirror of Erised standing at the end of our final chamber just behind Quirrell.

“Are you okay, Harry?” I ask him as he’s still looking at the mirror as well. He turns his eyes to me and gives me a quick nod.

“Are you?” he questions back, and I nod as well. “What did you do to your hand?”

“Nothing important. We need to focus on getting out of here…”

“This mirror is the key to finding the Stone,” Quirrell murmurs to himself as he strolls around it. “Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this… but he’s in London… I’ll be far away by the time he gets back…”

With that said, something comes to mind suddenly. It is only a matter of time before Dumbledore will return, which means, with lack of better options, we need to keep Quirrell distracted enough to bide that time. We need to keep him talking, and as it seems he loves to gloat, I think talking about what he’s managed will be the best way to do such.

“You sent Dumbledore that letter. You did it to get him out of here long enough for you to complete your little mission, didn’t you?”

“Indeed I did,” he says as he turns his attention from the mirror and to me. “Would be no good to have him within the castle while I’m down here, after all. Clever man, Dumbledore, couldn’t take the chance, so I sent him off to the Ministry as I knew it’s the best choice to have him leaving as soon as possible.”

Harry looks as though he’s caught on to what I’m doing, so he quickly joins me.

“I saw you and Snape in the Forest-” he throws out quickly.

“Yes,” he mumbles in return, still wandering around the mirror but not paying it enough mind. “He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I’d got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me – as though he could, when I have Lord Voldemort on my side…”

Quirrell moves from behind the mirror to stand in front of it, gazing into his most prominent desire. I suppose, though, if Dumbledore created this last puzzle, it will likely be impossible for him to simply see himself with it and then suddenly have it. That would be too easy on evil’s part. He begins to mumble what he’s seeing as he stares in.

“I see the Stone… I’m presenting it to my master… but where is it?”

Harry’s struggling against his bindings as best he can, and I’d be doing so too had my wrist not been throbbing so terribly. He look’s as though he’s struggling with coming up with something to hold Quirrell’s attention longer.

“But Snape always seemed to hate me so much,” he says after a moment.

“Oh, he does,” Quirrell enlightens casually, “heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn’t you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you _dead_.”

“But we heard you a few days ago, sobbing – we thought Snape was threatening you…” I speak this time. This, finally, seems to evoke an emotion within Quirrell beside casual, calm, and smug. It evokes a flash of fear.

“Sometimes,” he begins, “I find it hard to follow my master’s instructions – he is a great wizard and I am weak-”

“You mean he was there in the classroom with you?” Harry gasps.

“He is with me wherever I go,” informs the turban-clad man. “I met him when I travelled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it… Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me.” He quivers with this thought. “He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me… decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me…”

His voice seems to fade away as if he’s lost within his own mind and past. He has a far off look about his eyes, and a solemn grimace on his lips. He then breathes in suddenly and he’s back to looking around the mirror.

“I don’t understand… is the Stone _inside_ the Mirror? Should I break it?” he thinks aloud.

Harry, from where he’s tied down, shimmies around to whisper something to me.

“What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the Mirror, I should see myself finding it – which means I’ll see where it’s hidden. But how can I look without Quirrell realising what I’m up to?”

“You’re brilliant, Harry,” I whisper back. “But I don’t know… I could try and distract him, but he doesn’t turn his attention off of it for too long.”

He moves a little closer to try and peak into the Mirror, but the ropes around his ankles seemingly tighten and trip him so he’s tumbling to the ground. I gasp as he falls, but it doesn’t seem to draw Quirrell’s attention. I sit myself down as well as I can and ask him if he’s all right.

“What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!”

My blood runs cold, and I can see my own irises reflecting off of Harry’s glasses as I hear his voice. They’re glowing again, a brilliant lilac-lavender, and they’re glowing brightly. Harry stiffens in place as well, though his not interested in the state of me, but the voice as well.

“Use the boy… Use the boy…” an almost serpent-like voice seethes from seemingly Quirrell himself. He rounds quickly and his hungry eyes fall on Harry, but they flicker to me once he’s seen my eyes glowing.

“Yes,” he says after snapping out of it, “Potter – come here.”

He snaps his fingers and the ropes holding Harry down fall off of him letting him hesitantly stand. He looks from me to Quirrell and then back to me again for assurance, but I don’t know what to say or do, so I simply stare back at him.

“Come here,” commands Quirrell. “Look into the Mirror and tell me what you see.”

 _You’ve to to lie, Harry… You know you do! You can do this! Please, you can. I know you can!_ I think repeatedly as he gazes trepidatiously into the Mirror of Erised. His hands are shaking ever so slightly at his sides, and I can feel mine doing the same, my heart pumping furiously as though it wants to tear itself from my chest. It’s painful, as well, as though it’s literally breaking up my ribs.

“Well?” Quirrell asks after a moment. “What do you see?”

“I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore,” he invents. “I – I’ve won the House Cup for Gryffindor.” I don’t know if his lie will be enough, but it’s something, and I screw my eyes closed awaiting Quirrell’s following remark. Quirrell, however, is not the one to speak.

“He lies… He lies…” the snake voice seethes, and my heart pounds ever more painfully.

“Potter, come back here!” Quirrell shouts to him as he’s backing away from the Mirror. “Tell me the truth! What did you just see?”

The other voice speaks again.

“Let me speak to him… face to face…”

“Master, you are not strong enough!”

“I have strength enough… for this…” they back and forth.

Both Harry and I remain rigid as Quirrell turns around and begins removing the turban from his head, and I let my breathing stop completely as he turns and reveals the face of another he’s been hiding under such a head piece for who knows how long. The face is chalk-white, pale beyond all belief, with glaring, gouging, red eyes, and snake-like slits for nostrils.

“Harry Potter…” it whispers. "See what I have become? Mere shadow and vapour… I have form only when I can share another’s body… but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds… Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks… You saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the Forest… and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own… Now… why don’t you give me that Stone in your pocket?”

I gasp as I realise that Voldemort, the one that _must_ be sharing Quirrell’s body, knows that Harry has the Stone on him, and Harry tries backing away as he recognises such as well. He doesn’t get far as he’s suddenly stumbling over.

“Don’t be a fool,” snarls Voldemort. “Better save your own life and join me… or you’ll meet the same end as your parents… They died begging me for mercy…”

“LIAR!” Harry screams in retaliation. Quirrell’s walking backwards towards him now, bringing Voldemort closer to him, and the revolting face is smiling sadistically.

“How touching…” he hisses. “I always value bravery… Yes, boy, your parents were very brave… I killed your father first…”

“SHUT UP!” I scream, not wanting Harry to have to hear such things, but he persists.

“And he put up a courageous fight… but your mother needn’t have died… she was trying to protect you… And you-” His eyes slide across to me where I’m quivering in both fear and anger against the cement. “You must be an Amethyst… oh but you aren’t supposed to be alive, are you? No… Amelia wasn’t said to have had children… Tell me, Amethyst, how was your mother baring before she died?”

“You… you didn’t-”

“No… not me, but I was the one to send the order… she was too strong… too much like Lilly, too much like your horrible father… I didn’t ask them to kill her. I left that part up to her.”

“You know? You-” There are tears streaming down my cheeks by now, and Harry looks just as horrified as I.

“Of course I do… Now give me the Stone, Potter, unless you want your mother to have died in vain.”

“NEVER!” Harry screams loudly before springing up and jumping towards me trying to help me free. He’s fumbling with the binds, but he’s unable to free me, and so I shake him off and scream for him to go.

“RUN, HARRY! YOU NEED TO RUN!”

“I’M NOT GOING TO LEAVE YOU HERE!” he answers bravely.

“PLEASE, JUST GO!” I beg of him, but he doesn’t stop trying to tear my ropes off. "THE STONE! YOU MUST GET IT OUT OF HERE!"

“SEIZE HIM!” Voldemort commends Quirrell, and the next moment, Quirrell has his hand wrapped tightly around Harry’s wrist, tearing him away from me.

“DON’T TOUCH HIM!” I cry desperately.

The ropes tighten around me, them coming to my throat and restricting my voice, as well as my lungs, and I’m choking on the loss of air and the brute strength of the enchanted binds. My eyes are blurry with tears, but I can still see what’s happening between Quirrell and Harry as clear as day.

Quirrell’s snatched his hand away from the younger boy, the skin of his palm and fingers sizzling and boiling as if he’s being burnt alive without a single flame at his touch. Harry screams as well as he clutches at his scar.

“Seize him! SEIZE HIM!” Voldemort commands again, and so Quirrell lunges again, this time with both hands wrapped firmly around Harry’s neck. I cough and splutter as I try and yell for him, but I can’t voice a single syllable. The corners of my vision are turning black from the lack of air as well. Quirrell, once again, is howling in agony from seemingly touching Harry’s skin. I can very barely stand the pain erupting and pulsing in my chest.

“Master, I cannot hold him – my hands – my hands!” he cries as he pins Harry down with his knees and pulls his hands off of him to examine them in horror. They’re practically melting away right before us, large boiling blisters forming and sizzling erratically, red and pink flesh bubbling and brewing.

“Then kill him, fool, and be done!” Voldemort says, and I scream through the pain as I watch Quirrell raise his wand and point it at Harry. He’s about to cast something that’d surely kill him before Harry’s quicker, and jumps up planting both of his hands on Quirrell’s face, the effect immediate.

“AAAARGH!” Quirrell screams in anguish as he rolls off of Harry, his face now blistering and boiling similar to his hands. He’s unable to touch Harry’s skin! How can that be? There are orbs of dark and light floating through my vision before the ropes suddenly fall slack as if Quirrell can’t hold the spell any longer, and I’m dragging in deep, long, and slow breathes, my tears falling rapidly as my throat still constricts with the pain.

I see Harry jump up and clutch onto Quirrell’s arm, hanging on tightly with Quirrell screaming bloody murder trying to throw him off, but it’s a fruitless endeavour, as Harry’s holding on ferociously. On the back of Quirrell’s head I can hear Voldemort screaming as well.

“KILL HIM! KILL HIM!”

“Harry! Harry!” another voice calls, and I turn my gaze weakly to find Dumbledore crashing into the room and rushing over to him quickly. His gaze lands on me for just a moment, but I nod to him and he’s off again.

I turn to watch him run to finish off Quirrell and help my friend, but Harry seems to be out cold, and that causes me to cry harder. I can’t figure from here if he’s just unconscious of dead! I can’t tell! I can’t tell!

“Calm yourself, Miss Amethyst… Harry is alive,” Dumbledore says as he lifts Harry into his arms. I nod and simply roll a little to stare up to the ceiling instead of his lifeless-looking form. “Can you walk?” I nod again and with a little difficulty, stumble up to join Dumbledore. “You did exceptionally well, Miss Amethyst. You did very well indeed.”

“I didn’t do anything, Sir,” I rasp out as we make our way back through the troll room, and into the potions room. “It was Harry. Harry defeated him… he defeated Voldemort again, didn’t he Sir?”

Dumbledore merely nods.

“I don’t think you quite understand much about how much you gave in there, Y/N, do you?”

“What do you mean, Sir?”

Dumbledore goes into thought for a moment before answering.

“It’s something I fear you are not yet supposed to know, something that you aren’t even supposed to show. You will find out in due time, my dear, but forgive me for not allowing that time to be now.”

“Of course. I understand,” I reply tiredly as we continue up and out of the Philosopher’s Stone’s dungeon.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

I wake from my place in the chair next to Harry’s bed where I’ve been since he was brought in. It’s been three day’s since he was brought in by Dumbledore, and since then I’ve only ever left his side for meals, and to sleep during the night. Madam Pomfrey demanded I take care of myself if I so insist on being in here so often.

It’s terrible seeing him in here, and I can’t deny that it reminds me terrible of my mother during her last weeks, but being away from here makes me feel worse. I feel constantly anxious about it to the point where I’ve had to stop Mione and Ron bringing him up when they see me as the horrible feeling in my chest comes back and I feel sick.

I told Dumbledore about the feeling, and he told me that it’s normal for someone like me, and that the situation will enlighten itself for me one day, but as he’s said, now is not the time, and just that has me thinking that perhaps he knows a lot more about my family than even I.

Today, there is light filtering in through the windows gently, and Dumbledore is here again. He comes to visit as often as he can to check up on both Harry and I. I insisted that I was fine after the ordeal, but he and Madam Pomfrey had me accept a sling for my arm, in which, turns out, I had a fracture on my wrist, and bandages around my throat to help with the swelling and to keep the bruising out of sight.

“Good afternoon, Harry?” I hear Dumbledore say, and my eyes widen as I realise that he must have woken up. I jump in my chair and make eye contact with the boy, and we share a smile before his attention snaps back to the headmaster.

“Sir, the Stone! It was Quirrell! He’s got the Stone! Sir, quick-” he blurts out in a mad rush, and to help calm him, I place my good hand on the arm closest to me, and his head whips around in question.

“Calm down and let him explain, Harry,” I whisper hoarsely through my throat.

“Dear boy,” says Dumbledore, “you are a little behind on the times. Quirrell does not have the Stone.”

“Then who does? Sir, I-”

“Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.”

Harry does as asked and calms himself as best he can, and finally, after his breathing has evened out, I remove my hand from him and watch as Harry glances around at all the bits and pieces our friends have left for him, as well as others who’s names I don’t even know.

“Tokens from your friends and admirers,” Dumbledore informs him smiling broadly. “What happened down in the dungeon between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Mister Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a lavatory seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it.” I smile remembering her muttering angrily and taking it out, refusing to mention that I’d _watched_ the two bring it in with my own eyes.

“How long have I been in here? And are you okay, Y/N? You were hurt, too, weren’t you…”

“I’m okay, Harry. Just a few scrapes and bruises. Don’t worry about me,” I tell him, and Dumbledore smiles before answering his question.

“Three days. Mr Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger will be most relieved you have come around, they’ve been extremely worried.”

“But sir, the Stone-”

“I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you two were doing very well on your own, I must say.”

“You got there? You got Hermione’s owl?”

“We must have crossed in mid-air. No sooner had I reached London that it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you-”

“It was _you_ ,” Harry breathes as if remembering something.

“I feared I might be too late.”

“You nearly were, I couldn’t have kept him off the Stone much longer-”

“Not the Stone, boy, you – both of you – the effort involved nearly killed the two of you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. If not for Y/N, I fear it might have. As for the Stone, it was destroyed.”

“Destroyed?” asks Harry. “But your friend – Nicolas Flamel-”

“Oh, you know about Nicolas?” Dumbledore muses. “You _did_ do the thing properly, didn’t you? Well, Nicolas and I have had a little chat and agreed it’s all for the best.”

“But that means he and his wife will die, won’t they?” I speak up on the matter this time, hoping I’m not intruding at all.

“They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die.” Both Harry and I must look shocked, and Dumbledore has a small grin on his face as a result of such a reaction. “To two as young as you both, I’m sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, _very_ long day. After all, to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human begins would choose above all – the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things which are worst for them.”

Harry lays still for a while processing the given information and wisdom, as do I, and then Harry breaks the looming silence.

“Sir? I’ve been thinking-”

“That’s not good…” I whisper, but both hear me and Dumbledore gives off a joyous chuckle and Harry simply gives me a half-mad, half-amused smile. “Sorry, go on,” I chuckle.

“I’ve been thinking… Sir – even if the Stone’s gone, Vol-… I mean, You-Know-Who-”

“Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.”

“Yes, Sir. Well, Voldemort’s going to try other ways of coming back, isn’t he? I mean, he hasn’t gone, has he?”

“No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share… not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems like a losing battle next time – and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power.”

Harry nods, as do I, until Harry’s suddenly stopping and wincing slightly, and I can feel my heart skip when he does, something, Dumbledore has told me, I should try getting used to, though he refused telling me anything more on the matter.

“Sir, there are some other things I’d like to know, if you can tell me… things I want to know the truth about…”

“The truth,” sighs Dumbledore. “It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case, just like I have for young Y/N, I beg you’ll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie.”

Harry’s eyes meet mine and I give him a nod as if to say ‘go on, then’.

“Well… Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?”

“Alas,” Dumbledore sighs sadly, “the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day… put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are ready, both of you, you will know.”

“But why couldn’t Quirrell touch me?” he asks next. I, too, have been dwelling over the same question since witnessing it happen.

“Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn’t realise that love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign… to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection for ever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good.”

Harry’s begun to cry, and at seeing such, my own eyes water, though I do not let them fall. I watch as he moves to dry them and then spots his invisibility cloak on the window sill.

“And the invisibility cloak – do you know who sent it to me?”

“Ah – your father happened to leave it in my possession and I thought you might like it,” he answers with a soft smile in his eyes. “Useful things… your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here.”

“And there’s something else…”

“Fire away.”

“Quirrell and Snape-”

“ _Professor_ Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore reminds pointedly. I chuckle as well as I can.

“Yes, him – Quirrell said he hates me because he hated my father. Is that true?”

“Well, they did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr Malfoy. And then your father did something Snape could never forgive.”

“What?”

“He saved his life.”

“ _What_?”

“Yes… Funny, the way people’s minds work, isn’t it? Professor Snape couldn’t bear being in your father’s debt… I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father quits. Then he could go back to hating your father’s memory in peace…”

“And sir, there’s one more thing _I’d_ like to know…” I speak gently.

“Just the one, Y/N?” he smiles.

“There is more, of course, but at your suggestion, yes, just the one today… How did Harry get the Stone from the Mirror?” Harry’s eyes dart for the answer as if it’s a question he forgot he wanted to ask as well.

“Ah, now, I’m glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that’s saying something. You see, only one who wanted to _find_ he Stone – find it, but not use it – would be able to get it, otherwise they’d just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes… Now, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one, and since then I’m afraid I’ve rather lost my liking for them – but I think I’ll be safe with a nice toffee, don’t you?”

He smiles brightly and eats a golden-brown bean before grimacing slightly and chocking.

“Alas! Earwax!” he exclaims before taking his leave. Both Harry and I laugh before he begins asking me questions about my own injuries and my own doings down within the chamber. I’m happy to oblige, telling him again that I’m fine, before telling him about what had happened after he had passed out, and this is how we spend the next few hours.

Just Harry and I. Just talking.

Since being so worked up about everything, being able to talk to him now gives me so much relief I can hardly remember being so worried.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

_Words~ 5,111_


	19. ~18 - he End of Year One~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's come around to that time of the year for Y/N and her Hogwarts friends and fellow students. It's time for their year to come to an end, and for the summer to sweep them up and take them away. Oh, how strange it will be to be locked within such a beautiful house of terrible memories.

Madam Pomfrey is a lovely lady, with a sweet and caring aura, but when it comes to what she thinks is best for the students, well, she’s very strict, and sometimes even Dumbledore’s say can be outshone within her infirmary, and so that leaves Harry arguing with her about letting Hermione and Ron join us for a proper talk, which I know they’re dying for, especially seeing as I’ve been terrible with giving them the information they’ve been seeking.

“Just five minutes,” he pleads with the older woman, her herself huffing and folding her arms in front of her.

“Absolutely not,” she responds tightly. I groan from my claimed chair.

“You let Professor Dumbledore in… and Y/N,” Harry tries.

“Well, of course, that was the Headmaster, quite different. And I’m told it might be better we let her remain with you, for reasons I’m under strict instruction to keep to myself, but no matter that, it’s still different. You need to _rest_.”

“I _am_ resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey,” he pleads again, and her resolve shifts and finally crumbles to the ground, as well as her stern look that I was sure just moments ago we weren’t getting past.

“Oh, very well,” she tuts. “But five minutes only.”

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey,” I chirp as well as I can with my throat still aching. She gives me a little smile and a slight eye roll before finally allowing Hermione and Ron to come in and join us.

“ _Harry_!” Hermione immediately calls as soon as she’s in the room. She runs over and flings herself onto the boy giving him a hug similar to the one she left us with in the chambers below the school. I notice the poor boy flinch as she lands against him though, and so I motion for the girl to calm down, to which she complies. “Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to – Dumbledore was so worried – and Y/N wouldn’t tell us anything-”

“The whole school’s talking about it,” says Ron. “What _really_ happened?”

Indeed they are, which is another reason I preferred being in here rather than out there. I couldn’t bare having to listen to it all so soon after experiencing it first handed with Harry. Hearing all the stories, mostly truths, a few exaggerations here and there, too, was a little too much so soon after. Of course, there was no one telling stories that ever got it _completely_ right, and truthfully, I think personally that even the stories, the rumours that came to life, weren’t quite as vibrant, daring, terrifying, nor exciting as the real thing.

I stay out of repeating the events from down below, one, because of my voice, and two, because I hadn’t done a whole lot, no matter what Dumbledore thinks, and so it coming from Harry is the right way to have it revealed to Ron and Mione.

“So the Stone’s gone?” reiterates Ron after Harry’s finished recalling our time down there. “Flamel’s just going to _die_?”

“That’s what I said,” says Harry “but Dumbledore thinks that – what was it?”

“To a well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure,” I remind him quietly.

“I always said he was off his rocker,” says Ron, though I can’t deny he looks more than impressed by the words of said man.

“So what happened to you two?” Harry asks the duo.

“Well, I got back all right. I brought Ron round – that took a while – and we were dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the Entrance Hall. He already knew – he said, ‘Harry’s gone after him, hasn't he?’, and then we mentioned you, too, Y/N, and he hurtles off to the third floor,” Mione tells us.

“D’you think he meant you to do it?” Ron asks suggestive to Dumbledore wanting for Harry to face Voldemort down there. “Sending you your father’s cloak and everything?”

“ _Well_ ,” Hermione pipes quite loudly, and I flinch at her taken tone, “if he did – I mean to say – that’s terrible – you could have been killed. Both of you could have.”

“No, it isn’t,” Harry replies to her outburst. “He’s a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don’t think it was an accident he let us find out how the Mirror of Erised worked. It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could…”

“And we’re okay, Mione,” I calm her with a smile.

“Yeah, Dumbledore’s barking, all right,” Ron confirms with himself. “Listen, you’ve got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course – you missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrolled by Ravenclaw without you – but the food’ll be good.”

Suddenly, Madam Pomfrey comes bustling back into the room looking quite surprised to see all four of us still in here.

“You’ve had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT,” she commands.

After saying their goodbyes, Hermione and Ron leave the infirmary and Harry and I are left alone again. It’s getting late by now, and I’ll still have to pack my things as we’ll be leaving not tomorrow but the next day, and I’m sure I’ll be spending tomorrow in here as well.

“Harry, I’ll have to leave you earlier than usual tonight, but I’ll be back in the morning. I’ve got to pack up my things, you see. We’ll be leaving for home again soon,” I tell him, and he gives me a nod.

“What do you mean ‘earlier than usual’? How long where you spending in here?” he asks me.

I break out into an embarrassed blush and play with the fabric on the side of Harry’s bed. I try not too meet his eyes as I answer him.

“There’s something wrong with me, Harry… and I don’t know what. I couldn’t leave you alone in here when I thought you might not wake up – I’d just sit in here, you know? Waiting, I suppose. Dumbledore’s been indirectly suggesting its something to do with who I am – an Amethyst I mean – and I don’t really have all the answers yet – nor do I know why I’m telling you all this, you didn’t ask about that – uh, but usually I won’t leave until Madam Pomfrey kicks me out around nine,” I finally finish, and Harry is smiling broadly.

“Don’t be embarrassed about it or anything, It's nice having someone actually caring about me. I’ve lived with the Dursleys all my life, after all, it’s different, but a good different I think, so don’t worry. Next year we’re going to try and find out more for you, all right?”

I smile and nod gratefully before bending down and giving him a cautious hug as to not hurt him or myself.

“Don’t go dying in between now and tomorrow, all right?” I chuckle as I move to leave the room.

“You either,” he replies with a laugh, and so I leave.

I’m halfway to the Common Room when I’m suddenly swept off of my feet my two pairs of arms, though they’re gentle about it knowing I’m injured. It’s the Weasley twins, my favourite set of twins.

“Boys?” I croak at them gently. “How are we this evening?”

“How are we, she says,” George speaks.

“How is she, we says,” Fred follows up.

“I’m fine, for the last time, I’m alive, stop it,” I laugh, and both laugh along with me before putting me down.

“But what would mum have done?” says George. “She likes you more than us and she hasn’t even _met_ you.”

“It’s true,” Fred confirms. “Last letter she sent us she was asking about how you were, not us, that woman’s itching to meet you.”

“Well I can’t wait to meet her, either. I still want to thank her for the Christmas gift in person.”

“Oh, and how she went on and on about the letter you sent her.”

“She wouldn’t stop talking about ‘the lovely Amethyst girl with the great manners that we should ask for pointers on,” they both back and forth.

The boys both drag me along with them to Gryffindor Tower, and once were inside, they let me go to do what I’ve got to do. I move from the Common Room, up the stairs, and into my dorm where Mione’s sat and reorganising her trunk, readying it for travel. 

“I’m going to miss this place over the summer holidays,” I whisper out, and she jumps a little with my sudden appearance.

“Oh! Y/N, I didn’t hear you come in! Scared the life out of me!” she huffs and I chuckle. “Are you back early to pack?”

“Yeah, I thought it best if I got it out of the way early. After tomorrow’s end-of-year dinner, we’ll all be wanting to just call it a night for an early rise, I’m sure.”

“That’s what I suggested to Ron, but do you think _he’s_ packing?”

“Of course he isn’t,” I answer her and we both laugh.

The two of us spend a good while reorganising out belongings to all fit in our trunks properly, and after a long enough while, I’m laying back on my bed with the book that I haven’t had a chance to read. So far it’s pleasantly enchanting, and I’m very much liking the characters. It’s called _Jack and the Beanstalk_ , an old Muggle fairy tale. It’s with a long, low yawn that makes no noise due, once again, to my throat, that I finally put it back down and call it a night, Hermione already asleep on her bed across from me.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

In the morning, Hermione convinced me, seeing as Harry’s awake now, to wait to see him and instead join her in the castle’s court yards in the sun, and as I’ve been missing talking to her, and as my throat is feeling much better this morning, I’m now sat in said court yard with the bushy-haired best friend of mine enjoying the warmth and distant chatter from other students who’ve chosen to do the same.

“So,” she begins after we’re both settled on the lip of the fountain, “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

“What is it?” I reply whilst furrowing my brow. She looks quite nervous to bring is up.

“How _did_ you get your injuries… We’ve heard Harry’s side of the story, but not yours. You wouldn’t tell us,” she says genuinely worried. “I mean, what happened to your arm? You’re neck?”

“Well it was in the Devil’s Snare chamber that I had my wrist fractured. It’s only a small break, though, and Madam Pomfrey says it’s fine and repaired but to keep it in this sling as to not agitate it,” I tell before looking downward when approaching the topic of my neck. “As for, well, this, when Harry was fighting off Quirrell, Quirrell was holding me down with a set of charmed ropes, I think he was trying to kill me with them, and… Oh, Mione I couldn’t do anything!” I sigh sadly before lowering my face into my good hands. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“You mean you got injured right at the start but didn’t tell anyone?”

“How could I? There were more important things at hand,” I shrug lightly.

Hermione gives me a hug and suggests we go and find Ron and so we do, in fact, we spend the rest of the day as a three waiting for the end-of-year feast, and our quickly-approaching departure from Hogwarts, our holidays being the common topic of conversation.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

I’m sitting next to Hermione in the Great Hall along with all of the rest of Hogwarts’ students. Ron’s sitting across from us with a space saved just in case Harry’s going to be allowed out to join us.

The entire room is bustling with chatter from the Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, and the teachers at the front. The ghosts are billowing around as well chatting with different people about what they’re to be doing over their holidays.

It’d be a lovely atmosphere… if not for the green and silver décor scattered about the Hall.

Slytherin have won the House Cup, and they’ve been pleased to remind us every spare second about it whenever we’ve passed any in the corridors or on the grounds. It’s been a nightmare. Malfoy’s been looking particularly pleased with himself especially, as well as his posse of goons whom are always following him about the castle.

“Do you think they’ll let Harry out?” Ron asks from across the table.

“I expect so. I think Dumbledore asked her to allow it,” I answer him.

Suddenly the Hall falls into a hush, and every set of eyes stares towards the entrance where the doors have just been opened and Harry has just entered. I let a huge smile encase my face and wave to him happily. He looks rather put off by the way everyone stopped to stare just to go back to their business as if they hadn’t.

Harry makes his way over to us and sits beside Ron in the seat we saved him. He looks embarrassed by the fact students are standing and looking over one another to get a good lock at him, and I smile apologetically. Before anyone can bring anything up, though, Dumbledore thankfully stands at his podium to recite his end-of-year speech.

“Another year gone!” he bellows happily across the entirety of the Hall, silencing everyone immediately. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…

“Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with two hundred and sixty-two points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw have four hundred and twenty-six, and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two.”

The Great Hall bursts into cheers, hollers, and applause from the Slytherin table. I turn my head slightly to see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet unceremoniously against the long, packed table and I groan at the smugness he shows.

“Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin,” Dumbledore congratulates. “However, recent events must be taken into account.”

This causes the entire Hall to fall completely silent again, everyone’s eyes filled with confusion, and others filled with anger or despair. No one dares make a sound as Dumbledore begins speaking again, his words causing all of us on the Gryffindor table to fill with amazement.

“Ahem,” he begins. “I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…

“First – to Mr Ronald Weasley… for one of the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has ever seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”

Everyone on our table breaks out into cheers and shouts of glee. I beam proudly at Ron, the boy sitting across from Mione and I with a fresh coat of red colouring his cheeks. Harry claps him on the shoulder, as do a few others, and Percy is calling aloud about Ron being his brother to all the other prefects.

“My brother you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall’s chess set!” he calls.

After the cheers calm, Dumbledore continues.

“Second – to Miss Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”

Our table bursts aloud again, and I take Hermione, who’s looking rather red and shy, into a side hug with my good am.

“Well done, Mione,” I tell her, and she nods thankfully.

Third – to Miss Y/N Amethyst… for finding strength and bravery enough to lend strength to another, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.” 

The table is beside itself at this stage, as we’re now a hundred and fifty points up from our recent standing at the beginning, and everyone looks beside themselves with happiness. I hear Hermione, Ron, and Harry congratulate me, but what stands out most is the booming Weasley twins shouting loudly.

“Weasley junior’s done it!” they shout out, and I laugh and shake my head as both perform a funny-looking dance. Dumbledore laughs at their antics as well, and then everyone is silent again and awaiting his continuation.

“Fourth – to Mr Harry Potter…” This catches the rooms attention like never before as they’re all waiting patiently to see just what Harry will get awarded for partaking in the stories they’ve heard. “… For pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points.”

That’s done it. We’re neck in neck with Slytherin, tied for first place, and everyone in the Hall seems to have done the math as well ‘cause they’re ecstatic! There’s cheers from every table, except the Slytherins, of course, as not even Hufflepuff nor Ravenclaw wanted to see Slytherin take the House Cup for the seventh year in a row, and now there’s a chance that they will fall short of doing exactly that.

“You deserve it, Harry,” I smile to the beaming boy, and he gives me a huge smile as thanks in return.

Dumbledore raises his hand to silence the Hall once again, and everyone obeys almost instantaneously.

“There are all kinds of courage,” he goes on to say, smiling brilliantly through the gleam of mischief. I suppose he’s loving having Slytherin lose this year, no matter how he’s supposed to be unbiased toward us all. “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom.”

At this stage I feel as though everyone here, besides the Slytherins, will have just as hard a time speaking as me come tomorrow with the amount of screaming and cheering they're doing. Though it’s all for a good cause. This means we’ve won! Gryffindor have won the House Cup! And not only that, but we’ve swiped it right out from underneath Slytherin right when they were planning a place to keep it on their mantel!

I jump up and give the stunned Neville a quick hug from behind, congratulating him as much as I can bare, and then I jump away just as a pile of others fly over to throw themselves on him. I sit back down by Hermione and laugh gently, the others doing so as well.

“Which means,” Dumbledore calls over tha racket, “we need a little change of decoration.”

Professor Dumbledore claps his hands and immediately all of the banners and signs and congratulations for Slytherin turn crimson and gold, they turn to that of us, of Gryffindor. I can’t stop smiling so hard, and it’s making my cheeks hurt. Where there was a huge serpent, a lion takes its place, and the atmosphere is much more a welcoming one than what it was.

Tonight has and will continue to be a most extraordinary night here at Hogwarts.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

When our exam results came in, it was to no one’s surprise that Hermione made top of the year, and I was so proud of her for it. She deserves it so very much with all the hard work she puts in. She’s the cleverest witch I know and will probably ever know, and she deserves to have exactly that written to her in writing. I, as an honest surprise to myself, did very well as well, despite all of this years happenings, I managed to score higher than even a fair few of the Ravenclaw students, placing around the top ten mark which is unbelievable!

Harry and Ron passed as well, much to their amazement, though I had faith they would be fine, especially with Mione and I doing all we could to help them. Neville passed as well, which he was overjoyed about, and he gave me a hug thanking me for tutoring him in charms.

To all of our dismay, however, Malfoy, Crabbe, and even Goyle managed to scrape by, which put a dampener on it all, but not enough to completely derail out high spirits.

It’s with bittersweet smiles that our wardrobes are all suddenly empty, and our belongings are all packed away on the train. Misses and Thestral are with my trunk as well, the two seemingly happy to be able to go back home for a little while of rest. Misses has had quite a hard time with her nerves for not-so-great people, especially around some.

The trip on the Hogwarts Express is filled with laughter and talking, and I was even allowed to take off my sling and bandages with Madam Pomfrey’s go ahead. The sight of bruises shaped like rope caused me to catch a few looks, some of sorrow and pity, and other of pride, like from the Weasley twins who insist I look, quote unquote ‘Bad Arse’. After not so long, we’re pulling up to platform 9¾ in Kings Cross station and all pilling back off the steam engine again, ready to come back to the reality of before Hogwarts, some of us for the very first time.

“You must come and stay this summer,” Ron says as we’re readying to leave, “all of you – I’ll send you an owl.”

“I’d be delighted! Watch out for Thestral, then, I’ll send him out, too, Ron, and to you two as well, Hermione, Harry,” I smile.

We each pass through the gateway together, and instantly I see Connie smiling happily in the distance, though she doesn’t approach, she’s letting me say my goodbyes. There are many people, actually, and I find myself glancing around trying to see if I can recognise any of the adults as parentage to the students I've met this year.

“There he is, Mum, there he is, look!” I hear a light voice call. I turn around and come face to face with who can’t be anyone but the Weasley’s. The young girl must be Ginny, Ron’s youngest sibling and sister. “Harry Potter! Look, Mum! I can see-”

“Be quiet, Ginny, and it’s rude to point.”

“You must be Mr and Mrs Weasley,” I greet them as they arrive, Fred and George already standing off behind them, “I’m Y/N Amethyst-” I’m suddenly cut off by Mrs Weasley pulling me into a very tight hug, and I wince a little at the contact.

“Oh it’s so good finally meeting you, dear. I was so happy to receive your letter!” she exclaims as she’s hugging me tightly, and I smile into her happily. Oh how she was such a motherly feel to her. The feeling of her hugs is nostalgic and so far off, though, like the smell of one summer afternoon during a year you couldn’t possibly name.

“It’s good meeting you as well! I’ve been wondering what kind of a woman could put up with Fred and George,” I giggle, and she laughs loudly before nodding with me. “I also would like to thank you in person for the jumper you sent over for Christmas. It really made my day, so, thank you.”

“Oh don’t thank me, love, it was nothing! Especially after you’ve done so much to keep my two out of trouble all year. Haven’t had nearly as many letters from the school in their names I tell you, it’s been a dream,” she tells, and I laugh knowing full well that I hadn’t been keeping them out of trouble per say, but more making sure they weren’t caught _causing_ said trouble.

“Well regardless, thank you very much,” I smile.

I turn from our conversation when I hear the dull, and very not-so-amused voice of a round, stout, pudgy-faced man with a rather grotesque moustache staring hatefully towards Harry. This man must be Harry’s uncle, Vernon Dursley. Behind him there are two other people stood. There’s a boy not much older than Harry who’s equally as round as his supposed father, and a taller, lankier woman with a withered complexion, and tight uncaring, disgusted features. His aunt and cousin.

“You must be Harry’s family!” Mrs Weasley calls happily, though they don’t look impressed with being labelled as such, and within such a public setting as well.

“In a manner of speaking,” says the large man. “Hurry up, boy, we haven’t got all day.” With his bit said, he walks back over to the other two people and stands impatiently waiting for Harry to comply and follow along after him.

Mrs Weasley hangs back as well to access the state of her other children, and I return Mr Weasley’s happy smile as we make eye contact. I turn back to the three with me to give my final goodbyes.

“See you over the summer, then,” Harry mumbles out glumly.

“Hope you have – er – a good holiday,” Hermione replies hesitantly. She’s glancing worriedly to Harry’s family. Harry simply chuckles sadly before he and Ron turn to discuss contact over the holidays.

“I’ll be sure to owl you as soon as I can,” Hermione turns to me now. “Make sure you reply. We’ll have to organise for you to came and stay over the holidays. Or, perhaps the four of us can all stay at Ron’s as he’s suggested?”

“Of course!” I pull her into a goodbye hug. “I’ll write you as soon as I can. I’ll see you soon, Mione! Have a lovely holiday!” With this, she scampers off towards her parents and is gone.

“I’ll send you a letter as well, Y/N, to get you over,” Ron says before waving to me and leaving.

“Sounds good! Bye, Ron! Come on, Harry, I’ve got something for you,” I tell the boy in a hush before I trail him over to his awaiting family.

“What do you mean?” he asks, but I ignore him, and instead, once we’re right by his family, I say something that brings an amused grin to his face.

“All right, Harry. I’ll see you next year, but remember what Professor McGonagall said about practising turning things into rodents. We must keep the incantation fresh in our minds! Rats and mice should do! And remember, it works best on other people. I’ll see you soon! Enjoy your holiday!”

With one final look at Harry’s amusement, and the absolute fear that’s rushing through the three terrible-seeming people standing by him, I’m off to greet Connie.

“Hello, little love,” she greats after we break our hug. “How was your year?”

“I have _so_ much to tell you, gran Evens, you wont even believe.”

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

_Words~ 4,405_


	20. ~Epilogue~

_Dear Ron,_

_Hi, I’d love to come back around again, and Molly shouldn’t have had to beg you to ask, I’m offended you didn’t want to the first time. I’m joking, I understand I’ve been there a lot, but Connie believes being at your house is safe for me, for reasons she still wont tell, but anyhow, I’m more asking a question today._

_I’ve spoken to Hermione and she’s telling me the same thing. I’ve sent countless letters to Harry, but I haven’t received any in return. It isn’t like him not to answer. I know he would, so something must be wrong, right? Have you heard from him this summer?_

_Happy regards,_

_Y/N Amethysts_

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

_Dear Y/N,_

_I’ve been thinking the same actually. I haven’t heard anything from him either, but I’ve talked to Fred and George about it, and we might have a plan, except its really illegal and if mum finds out, she’ll kill us._

_What do you think?_

_Ron_

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

_Dear Ron,_

_I’m in._

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

Important Note!

Hi! Welcome to the end of book one! I hope you are enjoying things so far? I also hope you are well! All right, now, I do plan on the second book, of course, as well as the rest of the following series, so if you’d like to be updated as soon as that’s published, it’s be a good idea to follow me on my profile! You don’t have to, of course, it’s just a friendly suggestion.

Anyway, I really hope you’ve enjoyed this journey so far, as I’m very much enjoying writing it out for you within this perspective! Love you! I hope you and everyone you love is happy and healthy, and I’ll see you next time!

Sinclair~


	21. Re-Reading Begins

Good morning, day, afternoon, evening, it perhaps night! This is just a short announcement to inform you all that I am currently in the process of re-reading this story to take notes before beginning on the next!

I understand that after so long you may expect a completed piece, or at least a good dozen chapters, but this year was hard, and so I've been ser back. But just know that the second piece for this series is well underway.

I'll post a final chapter to this book when I've published the beginning of the next. 

Hope you're well and happy,

Sinclair~ 


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